


Not Without You

by jscribbles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Escape, F/M, Forced Ejaculation, Happy Ending, Imprisonment, M/M, Mentions of Forced Breeding, Torture, emotional and physical abuse by authority figures, humans put in solitary confinement, non-con megstiel situation, prisoners become friends and shoulders to lean on, story about love and determination, these tags make it seem very bleak but the boys find love and comfort in each other, use of barbiturates, various non-con situations dub-con situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 06:22:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19245592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jscribbles/pseuds/jscribbles
Summary: There's a virus spreading across the globe, rendering 80% of men infertile. In a rush to contain the spread of the virus as a viral hotspot arises in South Dakota, the government implements forced fertility testing for all men, and a mandatory breeding program. The borders close, all communication both interstate and across borders is shut down, and a state of national emergency is put in place. The fertile twenty-percenters are being redistributed to breed with society's elite women—moguls, celebrities, geniuses, CEOs. The eight-percenters are being sent to work on farms or sent back to their regular jobs, distributed via lottery. Dean and Castiel are not one of the lucky ones.Victims to cruel medical procedures, routine sexual assault, and other atrocities under The Facility's authority, Dean and Castiel quickly find comfort in each other. They—especially Dean—scheme and plot their escape with the help of Dean's laywer brother, Sam, who is states over but somehow instrumental in their plan. They find strength and love in each other, but how long will they live in a facility that executes rebels, and how long will they last when Naomi discovers that separating them makes them weaker?





	1. A Good Man

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my submission for 2019's Dystopia Bang! Please enjoy and be mindful of the tags. This was inspired by the basic premise The Handmaid's Tale.
> 
> Hugeeeee thank you to my beta EllenOfOZ. You are the wiiiiind beneath my wiiiiings.
> 
> Also SHOUT OUT to the awesome mods of Dystopia bang. They're super organized and helpful, and always very accommodating.
> 
> Finally, mega-est shout out and thank you to Bee-are-awesome, my spectacular, amazing, out of this world, larger than life artist. The art for this is fucking spectacular and I ADORE IT SO MUCH. It's absolute perfection.
> 
> PLEASE go over to Bee's art masterpost and show some love there too: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19246420

 

Castiel stood on his balcony, staring out at the city. In the distance, he heard gunshots.

He bowed his head, elbows resting on the railing, and buried his fingers in his hair.

He’d been laid off today.

He’d been laid off alongside Joshua and Zeke. Balth and Abner from Sales. Benjamin and Tamiel from Accounting. Even Malacai and Samandriel from maintenance. They were all called into the main conference room and given their notice. It was temporary, their boss, Hester, had said.

“Return to work is conditional on your voluntary submission to the repopulation program, and dependant on the results of the lottery,” she’d explained, tears in her eyes.

“It’s government mandated,” she’d explained, guarded on either side by two armed women, their helmets down, their gloved hands holding automatic rifles across their shielded chests. Castiel couldn’t even see their eyes, but he did notice the safety was off and their fingers were poised on the triggers if there was any resistance.

When Uriel asked, “And what happens if I don’t comply?” he was rewarded with the muzzle of a gun between his eyes.

“You do not have a choice but to comply.”

Daphne was kind about it. She ran her fingers through his hair as he rested his head on her thigh, and she pulled a blanket over him as they watched the news, eyes staring unblinking at the screen as hoards of men were escorted from buildings, arms full of possessions from their desks. Male shop owners were kicked out of their own stores, the doors blocked by armed women and older men in swat gear and black masks.

At the bottom of the screen, a message from the state government scrolled across on a continuous loop. It was there, in bright red and present on every channel.

“SOUTH DAKOTA ON LOCKDOWN. COMMUNICATIONS TO EXTERNAL STATES HAVE BEEN FROZEN. PLEASE DO NOT PANIC. DO NOT BE ALARMED. PLEASE STANDBY FOR A MESSAGE FROM YOUR STATE GOVERNMENT.”

It turns out, the virus had made its way to the United States. It had started in Australia, then spread to Germany, then China. Hotspots appeared in Canada, Brazil, Venezuela, and Portugal.

No one knew what it was, but it was frightening. It seemed to root itself to one geographical area and spread like wildfire. Scientists were labeling them “Viral Hotspots” and putting them on quarantine, but each country handled it differently. Most countries had closed their borders and all air travel was put on an indefinite freeze, but not one country had handled it like the States. No one had been this drastic.

It seemingly happened overnight. News stations suddenly were cut off from one another, with their only source of information being the state. The internet was blocked, and cell reception had fizzled out to nothing. Inter-state communication was at zero. The military responded quickly, guarding the borders to Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, Montana, North Dakota, and Minnesota. No one could leave, no one could come in.

Credit cards were blocked, cell phones were confiscated, and passports were deemed invalid.

Well, for the men at least.

Daphne squeezed Castiel’s hand as they watched the news, as they received instruction from the state government, a clear tone of warning and urgency on their governor’s lips. The message became clear after a few hours: 80% of men in the state were infertile and the number was growing. They had a week to report to testing station before they would be taken in by force.

The virus would spread globally eventually and repopulation was on the minds of the G20 leaders. It had already been in steep decline over the past ten years, and scientific talking heads were fearful for the human race if this virus spread uncontrollably and took hold of Earth’s male population.

The fresh breeze blowing across Castiel and Daphne’s balcony had the opposite effect it should; Cas felt nauseous, sick from the overwhelming feeling of being trapped. Fresh air only made him feel sicker. He wanted to retreat inside to their apartment where everything was familiar and the world still sort of felt the same.

It would be so easy to walk into a testing facility and find out if his virility was intact, but what would happen if it was? If he was part of the rapidly diminishing 20% of men left in the state to be able to populate, what did that mean?

The stoic, emotionless news anchor lady had told them: “Any men found to be fertile must turn themselves in. Failure to do so will result in incarceration and discipline to the highest degree. Anyone who finds a fertile man unwilling to test will be given a monetary reward.”

Castiel sat down on one of the chairs on their balcony, hands hanging on the railing in front of him. He stared through the glass, down at the streets. It was eight PM, it was dark outside, and yet there was still a lineup of men as far up as two city blocks, waiting to enter the local testing facility set up in a walk-in clinic.

“Babe,” Daphne murmured, crouching down beside him, a thin hand squeezing his knee, “why don’t you just go?”

His lips felt drier than usual as he stared down at the line. “It’s wrong. This is wrong.”

He felt heat against his leg as she nudged him with a steaming mug of tea. “You’ll be fine, don’t you think? I mean, we’ve… We haven’t used a condom in months and I’m not pregnant. You’re probably… I mean—” Her throat closed up, her voice a bit wobbly and thick. “—You’re probably not f-fertile.”

That was another concern. The infertile men? Their fates were decided by lottery. Return to work or be sent to the outskirts of the state to tend to the livestock. In a few years, if the reproduction program was successful, there would be a boom in population. Food needed to be grown, milk needed to be produced for the children, and who knew how long this quarantine was going to last? The one in Venezuela had been going on for two years.

Strangely, by the look of it, their government had been preparing for this for a while, too. It was all happening too fast, it was all too organized. Castiel suspected they’d known about the virus landing here for a while.

“I don’t want to be sent away,” Castiel whispered, his breath steaming up the window. He rested his forehead against his arm. “What would I do without you? Who would take care of your dad?”

Daphne sniffed and when he turned his head, he saw that her eyes were wet and she was running a hand under her nose.

“We’ll be okay, Cas. You won’t be sent away. They can’t…We have a life here, you have an important job.”

“Had,” Castiel corrected, sitting back a bit, his arms falling from the railing. He reached out to squeeze her hand. “Had an important job.”

“You work for the city,” she whispered, reaching up to tuck a messy strand of hair behind his ear. “You work for the government. They wouldn't send you away, they, um, need you back in the office, after you test. Y-You have a purpose here. Maybe they’ll just send the poor people away.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Castiel replied quietly, shaking his head. “It’s a lottery, Daph. It could be anyone. And…if I’m not working, if we don’t have access to my accounts, _we’re_ poor.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, pushing a wave lock of brown hair out of her eyes. “I don’t know why I said that. I’m just scared.”

Another gunshot sounded across down, echoing between the high rise condos around them.

He pulled her towards him, burying his face in her hair.

“Me too, Daph. Me too.”

***

The deadline passed.

A week passed and Castiel hadn’t submitted himself to testing. He’d had every opportunity in the world. Daphne had been begging him for days. “They’ll come for you,” she’d said. “They’ll force you to test and when you do, and if you’re fertile, you’ll go to jail.” But he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t get into the line, wait like a pig for slaughter, to be tagged and… and…

That was the thing. The news had come out days ago: the fertile men were going to be reassigned. They’d be given numbers and assigned to a leader, to a woman of high stature to reproduce with. Athletes, geniuses, politicians, actresses. It was slowly becoming less about repopulation and more about designer babies. They didn’t just want a lot of babies, they wanted a lot of smart babies. There were rumors going around that semen was being frozen and shipped out of state, sold to the highest bidder, bought out by other state governments, stored in case the virus spread to them. These external states were apparently hoping to spare their male population the fate of South Dakota’s. Fear seemed to breakdown the existence of morality, of ethics. The rest of the states were willing to turn a blind eye on what was happening in South Dakota if it saved them a similar fate down the line.

Men were disappearing, and panic was settling in deep in Castiel’s stomach. He hadn’t left the house. He couldn’t leave the house; Daphne was right, they would come for him. Two nights ago, they’d heard their neighbour Aaron be dragged away, kicking and screaming. His boyfriend, who had been tested and won the lottery to keep his job, was heard wailing after him for a solid twenty minutes, locked in his apartment, barricaded in there by state officials until Aaron was gone from the building.

Daphne had to leave to take care of her sick, elderly father. He was alone, terminally ill, and terribly dependant. The male nurse who had been taking care of her father had been submitted for testing...and he was unreachable. While she could take care of her father during the day, Daphne was paying a teenage girl to watch over her father at night, but money was running out fast. With Castiel’s bank account frozen, they were living off whatever cash they had in Daphne’s account, and she hadn’t had much. On his salary, they hadn’t needed her to have a job.

Daphne came home stressed and scared every day.

They were running out of money, Daphne was running out of lies to tell people about where Cas was, Castiel was running out of nerve as more men in the building were dragged away.

Time was ticking for them.

***

It was three nights after the deadline when they came.

Looking back, Castiel should have known something was wrong.

Daphne was quiet. She didn’t smile. Even when things were hard, she usually smiled.

She walked around with tears in her eyes, swallowing lumps in her throat every few minutes. She didn’t want to talk about what was wrong, she just sniffed and made dinner. As they watched the news, she let him hold her but she didn’t hold him back.

When they went to bed, she stared at the clock. She wrung her hands. She kept swiping under her eyes and bunching her hands into their duvet. She didn’t stop fidgeting.

“Daph,” Castiel whispered in the dark, nudging her shoulder with his nose. “Tell me what’s wrong? Is it your father?”

She pressed a hand to her eyes and breathed, “Stop.”

He fell silent, finger tracing a small pattern over her elbow, feeling the tip of his finger tingle against her skin.

“You’re a good man,” she finally said, eyes on the ceiling. A tear dragged down the side of her face. “You’re a really, really good man. I love you.”

He didn’t understand. He wasn’t sure what was wrong. He wasn’t sure what she meant or what her motives were but she captured his lips and cried against his cheek. She rolled on top of him and pulled off his shirt, desperately fisting her hands around the pillow on either side of his head as she brushed their tongues together and rutted her hips over his. Cas reached up and slid her t-shirt over her head and dragged his hands over her back.

This was the second time since he’d been laid off that she’d come onto him like this. It was the most sex they’d had in six months.

Several minutes later he was fucking into her, rolling his hips and panting against her collarbone while she lifted herself almost completely off of him and then slid back down, taking his cock deep inside her. They both moaned and as she came, she held him close, whispering something into his hair. He could hardly hear her as his orgasm closely followed, and he was coming inside her, gasping against her neck, muffling a cry as he bit into her shoulder, and dug his fingernails into her hips.

“I-I love you,” she repeated again, cradling his head to her shoulder. He could tell by her voice that she was crying again. “I’m sorry.”

Shaking, the waves of heat dispersing from between his legs, trying to get a grip of himself as his legs and hands shook, Cas pulled away and looked up at her.

“Sorry for what?” he asked, voice wrecked, a bed of sweat tumbling down the side of his face. “Daph, sorry for what?”

“I’m…” she raised her hands to her mouth and pressed against her lips. Thick trails of tears ran down her face. “H-He needs to be taken care of, Castiel. He’s so sick and-and I’m…”

“Hey, hey,” he reached up and pushed hair away from her face, fingers gentle around her wrists. “I know it must be hard for you. You’re doing the best you can with what we have, Daph.”

Daphne slid her hands up, covering her eyes. Her shoulders shook. “Cas, you remember how we, um, we were trying for a baby last year, b-before my dad got sick?”

His fingers stilled on her wrists.

Daphne wept to herself for few long moments, then she whispered, “You had those male fertility tests still in the medicine cabinet, C-Cas. I—”

The clock beside their bed ticked loudly, and ice filled Cas’ stomach.

“What did you do, Daphne?” Castiel whispered, eyes wide, staring at her.

Daphne tilted her head back and she wept. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Casi—”

Cas pushed her off, still gentle. He slipped out of her and turned on the light beside their bed. He crawled on shaking hands over to his t-shirt and pulled it over his head. He yanked his pants over his hips, tying the knot at his waist with trembling fingers.

“—I’m so sorry,” she moaned, wringing her hands by her chest, sniffling and crying. “We had sex a few nights ago a-and I took the test in the bathroom after.”

Castiel was going to be sick.

“T-They’re offering a monetary reward a-and, Cas. Cas, I had to do it. God, I’m so sorry, but we don’t have any money left. H-H-He’s gonna die if I don’t get him his medication.”

The very real feeling of nausea crept up Cas’ throat and his legs shook as he swung them over the edge of the bed.

There were three knocks on their front door. No, there were three loud, hollow, aggressive bangs on their front door. Someone barked his name. They pounded at the door again.

Castiel turned his head to stare at Daphne, whose eyes were wide and frightened, her fists tight in her lap.

“What did you do?” he repeated again.

“I called them,” she whispered, her blue eyes horrified. “I c-called them.”


	2. Not Scared

Dean and Benny stood in line, about ten people from the entrance of the testing clinic. They were shadowed under the giant Starbucks sign above their heads that was blocking the hot South Dakota sun. Dean leaned on the iron railing seperating the sidewalk queue they were in and the veranda sporting little tables and chairs.

“Fucking stupid goddamn phone. Fuck!”

Benny glanced sidelong at Dean, scowling as Dean shook his phone and tapped aggressively on the screen. 

“Give it a rest, brother,” Benny murmured, a morose expression on his face as he stared down at the line at the clinic entrance, guarded by two women with automatic rifles and cruel, cold eyes. “That phone ain’t gonna work until Big Brother tells us it will.”

Dean threw his hands up in the air and shoved his phone into his pocket. Benny was right: the stupid contraption was nothing more than a fancy calculator and Candy Crush machine now. 

“This is fucking bullshit,” Dean growled through his teeth, pushing off the railing and jutting out his hip, shifting his weight on his feet and crossing his arms. “They can’t just do this to people! We had no freaking warning, we didn’t have any opportunity to contact our families. Like, does Sam even know what’s going on? Does the rest of the States know what’s up?”

“Doubtful,” Benny replied darkly. “Just be thankful he joined that firm in Cali and not here. At least he’s not in the viral hotspot.”

Dean faced Benny and shot a dirty look at the men behind him who stared and obviously were eavesdropping. Dean pursed his lips at Benny. “Who the fuck cares if I’m fertile or not. I wasn’t gonna have kids anyway and they’re fucked if they think I’m gonna bang some rich bitch for the sake of humanity. I’m ain’t no stepford wife, okay? They’re gonna have to take me kicking and screaming.”

Benny rubbed his eyes. “No one likes it, Dean. Everyone is scared, okay? Testing and lotteries and assignments... It’s all a horror show.”

“Where the fuck are my constitutional rights?” Dean snapped, shifting his weight again. He pulled his teeth over his bottom lip worriedly. “Sam _can’t_ know about this. If he knew about this, his lawyer ass would be down here so fast the government wouldn’t even fuckin’ have time to say ‘lawsuit’ before Sam’d have their fucking heads spinning 360 degrees around like something from _The Exorcist_.”

The line moved forward as the more men were admitted. 

“I know, brother,” Benny murmured, looking paler as they shuffled closer to the clinic. 

Dean watched the line nervously too, sliding his sunglasses up from his face and tucking them into his t-shirt pocket. With a gulp, he extended a hand to Benny, eyes still on the doors.

“Smoke?”

Benny broke his gaze with the clinic and his brows raised in surprise. “Smoke? You haven’t smoked in four years.”

Dean licked his lips and glanced up at Benny. With a shrug, he said, “Now is as better a time as any to smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.”

“Or if your friend’s got em,” Benny muttered, reaching into his back pocket to hand a smushed box of cigarettes to Dean. “You take these, I’m gonna pass for now.”

Dean scowled as he took the packet and his fingers paused as he fished out a cigarette. “What? Come on, man. Have a stress-toke with me. Just one before we get the rest of our lives assigned to us.”

Benny shook his head. “Nah, man. My stomach is in knots. I don’t think I could.”

Understanding, his shoulders softening, Dean nodded. “All right.” He put the packet in his own back pocket. “I’ll wait until after, then. We’ll have one together once we know what’s going on.”

The best friends fell back into silence. Over the next few minutes, they shifted up, closer to the facility. Eventually, they reached the entrance and could see into the clinic. It looked normal enough, except for girlfriends, friends, wives, mothers, and sisters looking teary-eyed and nervous in the waiting rooms. The men looked stressed, tired, some teary-eyed and anxious. Brothers and fathers, friends, and partners hugged each other before disappearing into different rooms, led by doctors and nurses, urged on by women with guns.

“I’m not scared,” Dean whispered, licking his lips. Beside him Benny nudged him with his shoulder. 

“I’m not scared,” Benny echoed. 

It had been their thing since they’d met in elementary school. Through bullies and exes and final exams and their 30th birthdays, any time they were frightened, they’d say “I’m not scared” to each other to instill confidence. It was their way of saying, “I’m scared, but I’m not alone.”

The men in front of them dispersed. Dean was faced with a scowling receptionist who looked frazzled. Her eyes kept glancing at the armed women on either side of her booth and stare at them with suspicion. She looked like she hadn’t necessarily signed up for this when she’d taken her job.

“Sign in,” she ordered abruptly, sliding a clipboard at Dean. “Please fill out all sections on the form, including income level. Additionally, we need you to confirm your address in correct.”

Dean took the pen she offered him and frowned. “Income level?” he parroted. “What the hell does that have to do with the strength of my swimmers?”

She rubbed her forehead. “It’s mandatory. Everyone has to fill out that second.”

“That’s bullshit,” Dean replied quickly, waving the pen in the air vaguely. “I’m not filling that out, the government can suck—”

Beside him the women wearing bullet proof vests and helmets turned towards him. The receptionist swallowed and added, her voice a bit panicked. “Please just fill it out.”

She clapped a plastic cup down on the counter by his balled fist and pointed at it. “Once you’re done, attach the filled out sticker to the sample receptacle and wait in your room. Your results will be delivered shortly afterwards.”

Dean was highly aware of the very deadly weapons being vaguely turned in his direction as he filled out the paperwork quickly and slapped the sticker with his information onto the cup. Beside him, Benny did the same thing. The men looked at each other quickly and took twin deep breaths.

“Good luck,” Benny whispered as they were both escorted in opposite directions, Benny to one room on the left, Dean to a room down a hallway to the right. 

As a nurse granted him access to the rooms past a glass barricade, he wondered what the good luck was for. Either fate was potentially very bad. He’d either be assigned to some rich woman he didn’t know to be her semen-dispenser, or he’d be sent out to work in agriculture. The very best case scenario would be that he’d win the infertile man’s lottery and just get sent back to work at Bobby’s salvage yard, but life wouldn’t be the same. He hadn’t heard from Bobby since Bobby went in for his own testing. They thought he’d be fine because of his age, but Bobby hadn’t been seen in days. And the odds were split three ways that Benny would get the same fate. All in all; the stats didn’t look good.

The nurse swung open a door to an examination room. It was boring. It was an examination room like every doctor’s office he’d ever been to. Hell, he remembered coming to this exact clinic to get a doctor’s note back in college when he’d missed an exam due to too much tequila and a lot of fun.

“Make your semen deposit promptly,” the nurse said after he stepped into the room. “Knock when you’re done, we’ll be waiting outside.”

Awkward. 

Dean watched the door close and stared down at the cup in his hands. He exhaled slowly through his lips, his cheeks puffing out as he surveyed the room. There were a pile of pornos in the corner but he wasn’t about to put his hands on those, knowing that hundreds of other men had their lube-y hands all over them over the past few days. 

Dean leaned against the wall and lowered his pants. He shut his eyes and used his imagination instead, imagining Cassie, his ex. Or better yet, Cassie and Xander, the waiter from the local diner who served Dean and Benny breakfast every Sunday morning. He imagined Cassie and Xander together, around him, touching and licking. He recalled Brad’s big brown eyes, and gnawed on his lips, imaging Brad looking up at him, his lips rosy around his c—

Dean made his deposit promptly, feeling fucking weird as he came into a tiny plastic cup. He felt weird twisting on the lid and he felt really, really weird handing it to some lady outside the door, as if she didn’t know what he’d done in there, or how fast he’d come.

She turned away from him, after nodding and instructing him quietly to stay where he was, in the little jerk-off room he occupied. Dean avoided sitting or touching anything and just paced. 

The results came back quickly, almost as promptly as he’d deposited his sample. Except this time, the nurse returned with two armed guards. Dean froze in the doorway, eyes flickering to the two masked faces and the nurse, who looked a bit pale.

“Mr. Winchester, your results have returned very positively.”

Dean licked his lips and shrugged. “H-How did you know that so fast? My, um, cousin Gwen was trying to have kids for so long and when her boyfriend tested, it took like a week—”

“Technology has advanced quite a lot recently, Mr. Winchester,” the nurse said quickly, her tone annoyed. Her eyes flickered up at him from a clipboard. With a quick snap of her wrist, she tugged a carbon copy of the results and handed it to him. “Your count is forty-million per milliliter. That is very good. Expect your partner assignment in the mail within the week. You will be escorted from your home by state officials and you will be relocated to your new permanent residence within the day.”

Dean’s mouth dropped open. His heart pounded in his chest. He was one of the 20% they were talking about on the news. Fertile unicorns, he’d joked with Benny. He couldn’t have been one, he’d said to Benny, noting the smoking and drinking and fucking. He wasn’t some pure schuck who ate kale and did yoga, who kept his balls cool to protect his swimmers. He got drunk every weekend, sometimes a few times a week, and he jerked off too much, didn’t exercise, and banged questionable people—

“There’s got to be a mistake,” Dean found himself choking out, his hand weakly gripping the door handle. 

The guards shifted on their feet and the nurse’s cool facade broke for a moment, sympathy, or maybe pity, crossing her features.

“You will be expected to engage in personal, intimate deposit with your assigned partner every other day, and once a day, for the three days before her ovulation. You will follow a regimented diet and exercise plan, and you will not engage in intimate activity with anyone other than your assignment.”

“That’s fucking crazy, I’m not doing that,” Dean fired back, but his legs were too weak to carry him out of the room. _I’m not scared._ “This is fuckin’ slavery.”

The nurse’s eyelids fluttered for a moment, but she continued, her voice droning on with her rehearsed speech. “You will produce at minimum of three children, and following that, you will remain as a father figure, and return to the workforce. Failure to do any of the above requirements will result in immediate incarceration, without trial.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed so much that he hardly saw through them anymore. “This has to be some kind of human rights violation, are you kidding me? My brother is gonna tear into this fucking government the second he catches wind—”

“That will be all, Mr. Winchester. Please exit the building and return to the residence you provided on your form. Further instructions and your reassignment will be mailed to you.”

It was so tempting to just sit on the floor and hyperventilate. He wanted to swing at someone, to cry or puke or throw a tantrum, but instead Dean found that he had a lump in his throat he couldn’t speak around this time. 

Almost.

“Where’s Benny?” Dean whispered. When the nursed leaned in a bit, Dean said louder, “Where is my friend, Benny? He came in here with me. Tall, beard, southern accent.”

A strange expression flitted over her face, and the nurse stepped back, gesturing down the hall, back to the waiting room. 

“Results are private and intellectual property of the South Dakota state government.” She ducked her head. “Exit the building.”

After glaring at the guards, Dean did as he was told, his hands shaking at his side as he pushed the glass exit door into the waiting room. He turned around, staring around the room at the scared faces and the dozens of pairs of tear-glazed eyes. None of them belonged to Benny.

“Benny!” Dean barked, looking around. People stared at him, but no one replied. He was leaving the room, about to push his way outside when a woman reached out and pulled him aside, shielded by a tall plastic money tree.

“What th—”

Her eyes were wide, her face streaked with tears. She looked not older than fifty, but not young anymore. She looked terror stricken. 

“He’s probably out back. Th-they’re taking them out back.”

“Who?” he whispered, leaning in, his heart slamming against his chest cavity.

“The ones who fail the test. The ones who lose the lottery.” She swallowed thickly, her red eyes flickering around the room over his shoulder. “All these people? They’re waiting. They’re waiting for their b-brothers and h-husbands and family to come back out but they’re not going to come. I-I was out for a smoke in the alley and I saw them hurt one of them. He tried to run, he—”

Dean didn’t wait. He wrenched his arm from her grasp and stepped back out into the hot South Dakota sun, bile rising in his throat and his body trembling. 

He yanked a cigarette from his back pocket and shoved it into his mouth, dipping into the alleyway to avoid suspicion. He pretended to light it as the guards by the door scowled at him. He disappeared down the alley, tossing the cigarette aside once he was shielded in shadows. 

At the back of the building, he saw it, the rear end of a black bus. With a rising feeling of panic in his chest, Dean picked up his pace, his thighs burning as he began to run. He made it around the back corner of the building before he was met with two raised guns pointed right at his chest.

“Freeze!” a woman growled at him, jerking the gun in his direction. “This is government business, return to—”

“Dean!” Benny roared at him, his head visible over the tops of a few other men, over the huddle of them. Their hands were tied behind their backs, their faces pale, their hands shaking in their restraints. A man in all black and body armour was shoving them onto the bus, one-by-one.

“Benny!” Dean cried out, torn. There were guns pointed at him, yes, but there was also a gun pointed at the back of _Benny’s_ head. “Where are they taking you?” 

“I-I don’t know—” Benny began to reply, but the butt of a gun was rammed into the base of his skull. 

The second Benny’s knees hit the ground, Dean jerked forward, stupidly ignoring the weapons pointed at him. To his surprise, he wasn’t shot at, and he did make it past the guards a few steps before the bottom of two boots jutted into the back of his knees, forcing him to fold forward. The butts of two guns were thrust into his ribs and the back of his head. In surprise and in pain, Dean had bitten his tongue. 

Gasping from the pain he felt in the back of his head, he pushed himself up onto his knees. Hot, metallic blood washed over his tongue and he spit it out onto the dirty tarmac. Dean looked up at Benny and all the shocked face of the other men, and saw them all recoil when he tried to push himself up onto his feet. 

He realised why they reacted because he felt another blunt blow to the back of the head and he crumpled back down onto his knees.

“Benny!” he growled, tilting his head up to meet his best friend’s gaze.

“It’s okay, brother,” Benny yelled as guards roughly started shoving him onto the bus. He wear nearly at the doors when he smiled tightly and nodded in camaraderie. “I’m not scared.”

Benny was pushed onto the bus and out of sight. A line of frightened men were herded on after him. Dean’s neck ached as he tilted his head up, hoping to see Benny through the window, but they were painted black.

“Benny!” Dean cried out again, struggling to get up. But this time, he was yanked to his feet and thrust against the dark red brick wall of the clinic.

Gloved hands tangled in his shirt as they shoved him back, uncaring if his head hit the brick too hard and he saw stars.

“Calm down or we’ll have no choice but to arrest you!” the woman holding him down snarled. 

Dean fought back on impulse, shoving at her, fighting to see over her shoulder. “Put me on the bus,” he begged, though his pleading was less than polite and sounded more like a demand. “Put me on that fucking bus with him—”

His jaw made a terrible noise, a hard cracking sound as he was hit over and over. Dean was gasping for breath, choking a bit on his own blood when they stopped, sliding down the wall, but not before he kicked out, getting one of the women in the shin. 

“That’s it!” one of them barked.

Before he knew what was happening, Dean was on his stomach on the ground, face pressed into the cement. His hands were being restrained and he felt a throbbing pain from his kidney, where one of their knees was holding him down. 

“Assaulting an officer? Resisting arrest? Disobedience of a state reproductive order? That’s jail, you lumbering idiot,” one of the officers snapped at him as they tightened cuffs around his wrists. “Immediate incarceration.”

He felt them tug his results from his back pocket.

There was a silence, except for the shuffling of feet as men were led from the back door into the bus and the rushing of blood in Dean’s ears.

“He’s a 20-percenter,” one of them murmured. 

“Who cares?” the other replied in a whisper. “Check out his income level. They said we can send some of the resisters to the facility. If anyone is going, it’s this poor fucker.”

“He’s _fertile,_ Becca.”

“Yeah, and so are the other fuckers on the grey bus. No rich bitch is going to be sad that they didn’t get his shitty genes. Give this one to the dairy farm.”

Blood oozed out of Dean’s lips and he coughed a bit, clearing his throat of the copper liquid. With a croak, Dean said, “I’m a person. I’m owed due process.”

This time, when they yanked him onto his feet painfully by his arms, Dean didn’t fight back. He put one foot in front of the other in the direction they led him. 

“South Dakota is on lockdown, cow,” the girl sneered behind him as they moved past the black bus and across the parking lot to a long, windowless grey van. “Welcome to martial law. The only process you’re gonna get is the gloved hand around your cock twice daily for the rest of your fucking life.”


	3. The Facility

Castiel wasn’t a big crier. He could count on one hand the number of times he cried in his adult life. He hadn’t cried when his parents died, or when his cousin Gabriel went missing when they were kids. He hadn’t cried when his sister Anna was found dead in a meadow under a tree, or when he found out his girlfriend’s father had terminal cancer, two months after her mother had passed away. Daphne’s father had been more of a dad than Chuck had been, that was for sure. But still, he hadn’t really cried, not really. He hadn’t experienced more than a prickle of tears in his eyes and some trouble breathing when he’d sat next to Daphne’s dad during chemo. He’d wanted to bawl, but he just flashed Daph’s dad a smile and squeezed his hand. 

But the treatment he got when he entered “The Facility”, the officials called it, made his vision blur and his chin tremble a bit. 

He managed to keep himself together, but only because he was busy gasping against the aggressive spray of cold water that the staff hosed him down with. When the blast hit his cold body, and the other men’s bodies lined up against the walls, he couldn’t think for a solid ten seconds as the ice cold shower caused a terrible brain freeze and the sensation of his skin tightening into thousands of little peaks. When the blast of the hoses stopped, the tiled room echoed with gasps and choked exclamations. Men turned away from the blast, faces pressed into the walls, or arms curled around their bodies. Beside Castiel, a boy not older than twenty-one openly wept, hands blocking his face just in case they decided to blast them with ice water again.

The boy didn’t stop weeping for a solid fifteen minutes, even as they were thrown towels to dry off and herded into another room, naked and trembling. Castiel was torn between wanting to hug him, join his wailing, or snap at him to knock it off by the time they were given clothing—the same plain grey scrubs and black t-shirts. His heart hurt for the boy, but his heart hurt for all these men. Every one of them—including Castiel himself—were confused and frightened. 

One man tried to ask what was happening, where they were, what they were expected to do, but everyone quickly realised that asking questions wasn’t an option. 

“We have a room,” the leader, her name was Naomi, explained steadily, her quiet voice loud in the empty, plain white hallway. She held her hands behind her back, and she turned her nose up at the man as she stood in front of him, unmoving like a statue. “It has no windows, no bed, no pillows, or couches, or mirrors. The floor is made of cement, the walls are made of marble. You have a sink, a toilet, and a mat on the floor. The lights never turn off and there is a faint hum that never quite goes away. Ask any more irritating, unnecessary questions and you will be sent to that room for the weekend until you fully accept your function in this facility, is that clear?”

Every single man went silent. When she paced by Castiel, he found himself holding his breath, hoping that he hadn’t drawn any attention to himself. The boy beside him shook, but otherwise did not cry.

“You are here because every single one of you has done something to betray your country. You disobeyed orders, lied, hid, counterfeited results, or otherwise tried to escape your duty as a 20-percenter to repopulate this state. As a result, you will serve your state even _more_ than a reassigned 20-percenter. You will not only contribute two children, as the others will be require to do. You will contribute many. Dozens.”

Despite the fear that she instilled in their hearts, the men erupted into murmurs, looking at each other, eyes wide, lips moving as they whispered to each other.

“You will _not_ enjoy the intimacy of partner reassignment. You will not get to enter into a partnership with South Dakota’s finest women. You will make daily deposits without preamble, you will follow orders as given, and you will not speak unless spoken to.”

It was absurd. This had to be illegal. This couldn’t be a thing. They were humans, not lab rats, not cows to be milked or farm animals to be shepherded around. 

“I beg your pardon?”

Naomi stopped in front of Castiel, her eyes flashing. Castiel’s mouth snapped closed and he realised, still in a daze from the ice blast and the bright lights and the white walls, that he had said that stuff out loud.

He licked his lips, trying to buy time. But it was too late, he’d already spoken. His blue eyes swivelled to Naomi’s face and he repeated, “We’re humans. You can’t do this.”

The other men jumped back and made noises of empathetic surprise, when Naomi grabbed Castiel by the hair and yanked him down to his knees.

He pressed his lips together hard and grunted deep in his throat as his knees hit the ground hard. He saw two sets of black boots join Naomi’s on either side and he could practically feel the guns being pointed at him from somewhere above.

“You should have thought about that when you decided to hide in your apartment from your civic duty. Sperm analysis was not an option, it was mandatory and you broke the law, Mr. Grace. Now you no longer enjoy your constitutional rights, especially not under martial law. Not in a militant state where the government must intervene to control the spread of this virus.”

“The borders are closed, it won’t spread!”

Castiel was jerked to his feet and shoved back into line as another man spoke up. Every head turned to face him. Naomi forgot about Castiel and she strode down to the other man, her boots echoing in the corridor.

“Is that so, subject?” she asked, raising a brow.

“My name is Garth, not ‘subject’, and it-it said so on the news,” the man replied, after some hesitation. “We’re contained. We’re the only hot spot in the States. Everyone else is safe.”

Naomi’s lip twitched up into a smirk and she shook her head. “Don’t be stupid. The virus will spread, if not as quickly as it did here. It will penetrate our borders and become a national problem. What our role here at The Facility is, is one of factory farming. We extract quality semen, we freeze it, we ship it off to neighbouring government facilities. It will be stored and then distributed to families in need when the time comes.”

She looked around at everyone, and found a corridor full of confused faces. Naomi rolled her eyes. “You are going through this so that other men will not have to. If you thought you could hide from fulfilling your civic duty to South Dakota, you’ll be disappointed to know you will be fulfilling your civic duty to the entirety of the United States. There is no longer a coward's way out for you all.”

“That’s bullshit,” Garth snapped at her as Naomi made to walk away from him. “You gonna send, what, fifteen dudes to jerk off into cups for you all day to repopulate the entire country when the time comes? What kind of incestuous babies do you want us to have? Everyone will be related! This is ridiculous—”

Naomi looked over her shoulder at him, eyes sweeping over his face coldly. “The population of South Dakota is nearly eight-hundred and seventy thousand. There are nearly one-hundred-and-seventy-three 20 percenters out there, including yourselves. That’s nearly one-hundred-and-seventy-three bloodlines to repopulate our nation. For those who resist, like you cowards, there are facilities available.” Her painted mouth curled into a nasty smile. “Mr. Fitzgerald, we are on floor thirteen. This building has forty-seven floors. You fifteen are merely the newest recruits to this division which houses thirty-five men.”

Castiel felt sick.

Thirty-five men per floor, forty-seven floors. That was one-thousand, six hundred, and forty-five men in one facility. All the government needed was one hundred other facilities like this. There were definitely one hundred cities in South Dakota. Hell, Sioux Falls alone was enough of a big city to hide ten or twenty of these kinds of facilities.

There was no way the government hadn’t known the virus would hit. There was no way they hadn’t been prepared.

“Any more questions?” Naomi asked the man named Mr. Fitzgerald. 

“No,” the man breathed. 

“Good.” Naomi turned to her guards and nodded. “Dumah, Rachel.”

The hallway filled with screams and the rapid shuffle of scrubs as the men scrambled away and huddled together, reacting impulsively to the rounds of gunfire the women fired into Mr. Fitzgerald's chest, spraying the white walls, his scrubs, and the men around him with blood.

“Garth!” a man moaned, shrinking against the wall, looking shattered. “Oh God. Oh God. H-He had kids, what the fuck. What the fuck.”

“You should all be honoured to play your roles,” Naomi called over the panic. “This facility employs four thousand people in your area, and the number grows. You are giving back to society.” She turned away from them, moving to exit through two heavy metal doors labelled “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY”. 

She swiped a keycard through a reader beside the door and paused, turning back to them. Her cold grey eyes swept down the line. “Be silent, and follow directions. Dumah and Rachel have authorization to reasonably terminate at will if there is disobedience. Let Mr. Fitzgerald’s curiosity and rebellion be a lesson to you all. Mr. Fitzgerald may have been released after he paid his dues, he may have been able to see his children again after he served his time. Keep that in mind the next time resistance feels like an option.”

The boy beside Castiel burst into tears again as Naomi disappeared through the doors and her goons began herding the men further down the corridor.

His stomach turned as he heard a couple of the men slip in Garth’s blood, and for the first time since he got there, he felt like crying too. 

***

They were assigned rooms with one other “depositor”, as they were referenced as. They were given a few pairs of scrubs and shirts, and the rooms were very much like tiny apartments. To Castiel’s surprise, the cell door that locked behind them was the only aspect of their sleeping arrangements that felt like prison. There was a separate room housing the toilet, and their tiny room did have a book shelf and small desk under their respective bunks. It _almost_ seemed like the facility cared. Almost. Castiel definitely would have thought the facility might’ve cared if it wasn’t for Garth’s blood running down the white walls in the hallway not half an hour ago.

Castiel’s roommate was asleep when he got there, which was strange because if he had an accurate feel for the time, it should be late morning. The guard patrolling their hallway had warned him that he had twenty minutes to settle in before “examinations”, whatever that meant.

Twenty minutes sounded like no time in his previous life. Twenty minutes now sounded heavenly to his aching limbs, chilled from the ice water. The bunk, while looking uncomfortable by creaky-sedentary-35-year-old-man standards, looked so welcoming and plushy by prison standards. Castiel climbed up and slipped under the covers, inhaling long and slowly as his body sunk into the mattress and he pulled the blankets over his head, welcoming the solitary semi-darkness and privacy it afforded to him, even if it was half-assed.

The blankets were a bit itchy against his dry skin, tight from the hosing down, and his hair was still kind of wet, but he had messy hair even on a good day, so Castiel let exhaustion take him over. 

Sleep closed in on his mind and dragged him into quick nightmares about Daphne weeping, kneeled on the bed, begging him for forgiveness. He looked down at his body and realised he was in scrubs. The material was soaked in dark red, blood streaking down the inside of his pants. He pressed a hand between his legs and felt nothing but a gaping hole. Daphne suddenly began cackling, holding a bloody razor in the air.

“Yo, wake up.”

Cas hoisted himself up onto his elbow very suddenly, gasping dryly from his nightmare. He was suddenly so thirsty, and his hand was pressed between his legs. For a delusional moment, he grasped at his crotch, panicked as he half-expected there to be blood and a hole there. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be jerking it,” his roommate said flatly, pulling his hand back from Cas’ knee, where he’d shaken him awake. The stocky man frowned, his green eyes narrowing a bit. “First of all, it’s fucking weird to do that when you haven’t cleared it with me first, or invited me to assist—” the other man flashed Cas a cheeky little smile, “—and second, if they catch you jerking off, they’ll sent you to solitary. Trust me, bud, I did three days in there and nearly went crazy. One fleeting orgasm isn’t really worth it.”

“Thanks,” Castiel muttered, not bothering to defend himself or tell this other man that he hadn’t been masturbating. Instead, Castiel sat up and rubbed at his eyes. 

“Come on, hurry up. A nurse is gonna come by to get you. Dumah just came by to give you a heads up,” the man said, nodding his head towards the door, which to Castiel’s surprise, was open a crack. 

“I feel sick,” Castiel commented bluntly, his stomach turning. Between his nightmare, the kidnapping, hurtful memories of Daphne’s betrayal, and the general terror he felt since hearing Garth’s chest get blown open, he hadn’t had a single moment of feeling okay since his arrival.

“I feel you,” the other man said, looking distant in his eyes for a moment before his hand tightened around the railing of Cas’ bunk and he drummed his finger against the metal. “It takes a few days to stop feeling sick to your stomach. Ain’t no way around it; this situation is fucked.”

Castiel rubbed at his stomach, actually feeling like he might vomit. He wanted to go home so badly. Maybe not to Daphne, but to his bed, to his small kitchen, to his seat on his balcony. He missed his PB&J’s at three in the morning. He missed his shitty instant coffee that Daphne hated. What he wouldn’t give to have the opportunity to eat a burger on his balcony right now—

“What’s going to happen to me?” Castiel asked abruptly, staring out of the crack in their cell door.

His roommate pursed his lips, but looked away, bowing his head a bit. Cas heard his feet shuffle. 

“Normally, around this time they’ll feed us. They’ll break us into teams of five, then they’ll take us to the dairy farm and get with the deposits. I think on your first day though, you go to the exams, then join us for the second deposit.”

The odd terminology had Castiel breaking his mournful reverie and he frowned down at his roommate. He tilted his head. “Dairy farm?”

The man was pale when he looked back up at him, his skin draining under hundreds of freckles and otherwise tanned skin. 

“You’ll see.”


	4. The Dairy Farm

It turned out, the dairy farm was exactly how it sounded. They were being lined up, confined, and milked like cows.

Pornography would tell him that this was sexy, in a weird way. Get jerked off by hot girl in a lab coat. Sexy doctor milks patient—xxx/creampie/HOT. 

Castiel found that kind of porn distasteful anyway, there was no way he was going to find it attractive in real life. Turns out, in practice, no one found that attractive or sexy in real life. 

His roommate, whose name he hadn’t caught before someone had come to take him away, seemed to be too furious with the process to tell him about it. 

The man had been accurate, of course, about the examinations. A cold looking man with grey hair and a bad attitude came by their cell to retrieve Castiel and the other new recruits. They’d been taken to examination rooms, made to strip down. They were weighed and measured, poked and prodded, and made to drink a disgusting concoction pulled out of a medical freezer, a mix of strange textures from ominous looking vials and test tubes. Castiel had actually struggled to keep his down, gagging a bit and pressing a hand to his mouth, but the two armed guards standing at the door with their weapons pointed at him was incentive enough to force it down.

He was allowed to put on his clothing and return to his cell. The man who escorted him looked peeved, like Castiel’s very presence annoyed him.

“Why aren’t _you_ in a cell, escorted by armed guards?” Castiel asked, the foul taste of that concoction fresh on his tongue, making him irate and stupidly brave. The sight of a free man, willingly participating in this charade, made him inexplicably annoyed.

“None of your business,” the man growled, not bothering to cast Castiel a sidelong glance.

“Seems unfair,” Castiel murmured, glaring down the white, narrow hallway from the examination rooms. 

“You have youth,” the man replied gruffly. “You have youth and strong sperm. I have grey hair, useless swimmers, and this bullshit to put up with. Shut your trap, and just keep putting one foot in front of the other.”

“Why weren’t you sent to the farms?” Castiel asked.

The nurse-escort rolled his eyes, his big bushy brows shadowing his silver irises.

“I’m over 65, dumb shit. The government doesn’t need us old fuckers giving them faulty product, and apparently, they don’t want us at the farms either. It was this or running the gas station over on Main, so I chose this. Government job, pension, benefits. Ain’t nothing to complain about except all you man-babies around here crying and snotting all day long.”

Castiel fell silent, rage now quickly joining the ever-present thrum of fear coursing through him. Again, he felt the suspicion that this was too organized. Roles were set, rules were in place. The processed around here were flawless. 

He was dropped off at his room. While Castiel tried to sleep, all he could think about was Garth’s cruel death, and the icy pain of being hosed down, naked, with nearly fifteen other men. They were being treated as less than human, and he wondered if his cowardice had really merited this kind of treatment. 

Very shortly after he returned from the examination process, his roommate was dropped off at the cell too. He looked almost grey from pain and he limped a bit over to his bed, groaning as he lifted himself up onto his bunk. 

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked quietly, eyes quickly darting to the cell door, wondering if he was even allowed to talk. He wasn’t sure what he was allowed to do. 

“Don’t talk to me right now,” his roommate murmured, curling up in bed, with his back to Cas. His sandy head of hair disappeared under the thin sheets.

The next few hours were confusing. 

They were left alone for an hour, but then a buzzer went off and their cell doors opened. Castiel was alarmed at the sound, jolted up from his bed. His roommate got up with a sigh, easing himself down to the floor from his bunk and nodding out into the hallway. 

“Let’s go, bud. Time to eat.”

He watched his roommate leave through the open door and he felt admittedly frightened to follow suit. A part of him feared he’d be shot for leaving the room, but hunger won out and he slipped off the bunk and followed the man into the corridor, where dozens of other men were gathering too. He hadn’t been hungry earlier, too sick to have an appetite, but physiology was catching up to him and his stomach growled.

Women and older men in black armour were guarding the hallway, spread intermittently. Occasionally, they had to argue with a prisoner or two to leave their bunks. 

Everyone filed into a strange, cold looking mess hall with hard steel tables that had matching hard steel benches. Food was placed out already, plates piled high with richly coloured vegetables, nuts, and chicken. 

As Castiel settled onto a bench beside his roommate, he leaned in a bit and whispered, “What’s with the food? They hose us down like livestock but then feed us like kings? I don’t think I understand.”

The other man shrugged, shaking his head as he tucked it, shoving a mouthful of spinach and pine nuts into his mouth. With his cheeks puffy with food, the man replied thickly, “Don’t feel too special. All this healthy hippie shit is to raise our sperm count, keep testosterone levels high. Trust me, if they could feed us like pigs, just shove any kinda slop at us and call it a day, they would. Don’t think you’re a person anymore.” He stabbed a piece of chicken with a bit too much aggression. “You’re not. Not to them.”

Castiel and his roommate went silent as a guard patrolled behind them. He ate quietly, slightly grossed out by the food, which had no seasoning on it and was bland. It kind of reminded him of the disaster meal that Daphne had cooked for them on their third date. She’d been so nervous she burnt everything and forgot to season the salvageable items. Back then it, had been cute, and the memory had been a fond one. Now, though he rationally knew she did what she’d had to for her father, he felt nothing but bitterness as he thought about her. 

Once the patroller was far enough out of hearing range, Castiel turned back to his roommate. 

“They made me drink this, um, stuff during the examination—”

“Oh,” the other man snorted. “Yeah. Fucking gross, huh?”

Castiel felt himself smile for the first time in days, though it was tight and small. “Yeah. Fucking gross.”

The other man, already half-done his food, seemed to have perked up a bit for the first time since he’d come back from… well, wherever he’d gone. Pretty green eyes raised and met Castiel’s. 

A bitter little smile curled on the other guy’s mouth. “It’s to bulk up your come. Sorry to tell you that when you’re eating, but c’est la vie. Or que sera sera? I can’t remember which one means ‘you’re fucked, buddy’.”

While Roommate snorted at his own grim joke, Castiel swallowed a piece of dry chicken, feeling it get caught in his throat as his mouth dried up too, disgusted at what the other man was telling him.

“Why would they want to do that?” he asked quietly, eyes flickering over to the guard’s back. “We’re already here because we’re fertile.”

Sandy-haired-guy sighed as he speared his fork through a piece of asparagus. He stared at it glumly, holding the floppy vegetable in front of his face. “‘Cause unless you’re a pornstar, you ain’t coming more than one or two times in a row without some bulk and a fluffer.”

Castiel’s stomach churned. “...once or twice in a row?”

“Once or twice in a row seems like a pleasant dream compared to what they do to us.” And when Castiel’s eyes widened, the other man shook his head. “Yeah, doesn’t sound so cool anymore, right?” the guy snorted, shoving the asparagus into his mouth like it was a chore. He chewed and grimaced, but said out of the corner of his mouth, his cheeks lumpy, “I used to think a dude who could keep it hard and keep going was some kind of sex god, but now the thought makes me wanna hurl.”

“They don’t realistically think we can all do that,” Castiel whispered, aghast. His food was forgotten.

Green eyes surveyed him with pity. “Oh, bud. They really, really don’t. Which is why they create the conditions they need. The food, the vomit-o-cious come-smoothie, the pills, the fuckin’ vitamin and medicine cocktail they put in the water… They’ve science-d it up so that we can just—” the man made a jerking motion and then spread his fingers wide, “—get milked like cows, pretty much endlessly. They stop when they decide to stop.”

Castiel put down his fork and pressed a hand to his mouth, feeling like he was actually going to throw up. He shut his eyes, trying to will down the creeping feeling of bile rising in his throat, when he felt a nudge at his side.

Roommate Guy was watching his face closely, eyes concerned under furrowed brows. “Don’t do that. If you throw up, they’ll beat the shit outta you and find alternate ways to feed you. They’ll think you did it on purpose.”

Castiel swallowed hard a few times, then lowered his hand back to the fork, noticing his fingers trembled. “Why would I do that on purpose?” he breathed, his voice wobbly.

A guard passed by them again, and Castiel forced himself to take a bit of yam and chew, though he just wanted to spit it out.

When the guard was gone, his roommate nudged him again. “Just trust me. My first few days here were rough. I went on hunger strikes, made myself throw up on purpose, I had to be dragged around kicking and screaming. I think they’ve toughened up since then because everyone else I’ve seen rebel has been punished or…” he went quiet, picking at the yam on his plate. “...or they just disappear.”

Castiel didn’t want to talk anymore. He felt sick. The rest of the food on his plate got finished, but very slowly and painstakingly. He should’ve asked his roommate's name or said anything else really, but a strange black cloud of defeat and emptiness hung over his head. It felt strangely like fear, like hopelessness.

***

The lineup for dairy farm was long. The waiting time was longer. Castiel wasn’t sure if it was actually an hour that they’d been waiting in the hallway, or if it just felt like an hour.

He considered asking his roommate what was taking so long, but the man was staring forward, eyes dark, lips pouted angrily, his brows knitted together and his jaw clenched. He looked furious. His hands rolled at his sides, fingers massaging his palms. 

Castiel turned around, raising a hand to his mouth. He nervously chewed at his nails. To his surprise, his roommate spoke, but it was quiet, so quiet that the guards wouldn’t hear.

“Cut that out, it drives me nuts.”

Castiel dropped his hand from his mouth and briefly glanced over his shoulder. “Sorry.”

The man sighed behind him. Castiel felt him lean close, his hot breath dancing over Cas’ neck.

“Sorry,” his roommate grumbled. “My brother Sam used to do that all the time and it just makes me crazy, I just hate it.”

The light above the dairy farm door turned from red to green and the doors unlocked automatically. Dumah and Rachel raised their guns. 

A group of five men, the group that had gone in ages ago, filtered out. They looked pale and shaken. One man even had another man’s arm around his shoulders as he limped, hissing with each few steps.

As Dumah led them away, Rachel turned to their group. “You may now enter. Follow all directions, and swallow your prescription. Do not try to feign ingestion. We will be checking.”

Castiel, who’d previously felt nervous, suddenly felt petrified as they were herded into the room the other men had just vacated.

Inside, a few women and older men sat on stools, looking bored and stoic, snapping on gloves and arranging cups, bottles, and other instruments on a small stainless steel tray on wheels. In front of each of them, separated by only a few feet, were shackles hanging from the ceiling and from the floor. Five stations, five sets of shackles, five facility workers, five men being herded into the room at gunpoint. Each of the facility workers had a small murky glass of water and a small brown pill in their hands, held out.

The five men dispersed, moving to a station. He stayed close to his roommate who looked more and more furious as the seconds passed.

Castiel felt sick to his stomach, but he accepted the water and the little brown pill that was given to him by a peeved-looking woman with curly red hair and bright lipstick. She was pretty, but he was too terrified to care. She could have warts and a tail, and nothing would’ve changed.

The other men went to a station and took their medication. He heard his roommate’s worker growl, “Swallow it, Winchester. All the way. No bamboozling us this time. You know it only gets you in trouble… Good. Now step into the restraints.”

After watching his roommate put his feet on the markers and seeing his worker kneel down to clasp them closed, Castiel felt a jolt of panic in his stomach and he turned to his assigned worker.

“Please don’t tie me up,” Castiel whispered to the woman after she made him open his mouth to show that he’d swallowed. “I’ll cooperate. Just...let me do this alone. I-I can do this alone.”

“Sorry, Mr. Grace,” the women murmured, scribbling something on a clipboard. Her voice was dull, but he didn’t necessarily feel like it was uncaring. “Voluntary and private individual deposits used to be an option, but you can thank Mr. Winchester for ruining that for everyone. I’m afraid the only options you have is manual or machine.”

Castiel was about to ask about the machine when his roommate, who was called Mr. Winchester apparently, interrupted quickly.

“Don’t pick the machine, man. Do yourself a fav—OW!” 

He was interrupted when the woman clicking his ankles into the restraints swung up and punched Winchester right in the ribs.

“You fucking bitch, I hate you,” Winchester ground out through his teeth. “The day I get outta here, I’m gonna draw a picture of you straight from my nightmares and launch it out a fuckin’ canon.”

“Dream big, filthy cow,” the woman sneered, glaring at Winchester right in the eye as she wrenched his hands up over his head and locked his wrists in restraints hanging from the ceiling.

“Please,” Castiel whispered as his attendant raised his hands over his head as well, though she was a tad gentler and less hateful than Winchester’s. “I can do this on my own, I don’t need help. You don’t have to do thi—”

“How we want you to perform, you would not be able to manage on your own,” she replied, eyes occupied as she tugged on the chains, checking their durability. She kneeled by his feet and locked his ankles in as well. When she rose again, eye-level with him, he thought he saw pity flit across her features for a moment. “It’s better this way. The sample collection is easier, more streamlined. It’s quicker.”

Quicker. Well, quicker sounded better. The less time he would have to spend here, the better, but he recalled waiting an hour for the previous group to vacate the room. He prayed that he wouldn’t be strung up like this for an hour. It was inhumane. It was humiliating. Where was the necessity for this?

He felt himself start to sweat, and he was ashamed to acknowledge that his hands were shaking. He was even more ashamed to acknowledge that he had an erection—tight, strong, and hard. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew whatever pill they’d just given him was the culprit, but it was humiliated to be strung up with an aching erection in front of a bored looking woman. This was like every sex nightmare he ever had, except even in those scenarios, there weren’t four other guys watching him come into a little plastic cup. 

His worker—her name was Abba D., as per her name tag—sat on her stool and slid close to him, pulling her cart beside her. The four other workers did the same, and when the light above the door turned from green to red, they all uncapped a bottle on their trolley and squeezed a thick, translucent liquid onto their gloved hands. 

The burning shame only intensified when Abba unceremoniously tugged down his pants and began stroking his cock with gloved, slicked hands. She did it very clinically. Up, down, up, down. Occasionally she would jerk her hand a bit around his head, but otherwise, it was the coldest handjob he’d ever gotten in his life. Nevertheless, it physically felt good and Castiel felt himself nearly moan quite a few times. The situation was as far from sexy as possible though, with four other guys in the room getting jerked off, the slick, wet sounds echoed against the white tiled walls. 

Castiel felt his legs shake as his orgasm was pulled from him very quickly. He kept his eyes closed, unable to handle the shame and embarrassment of the entire situation. He found himself wondering what went so wrong with the world, and wondering if he’d really deserved this inhumane punishment, but his mind quickly when blank as he rode out waves of pleasure forced on him by clinical hands.

He opened his eyes when he felt the cold rim of a cup tipped against the end of his cock, gathering his ejaculate. His cock tried to twitch as he shuddered through his orgasm, but Abba held it still, concentrating as it aimed it into the cup, doing a little twist with her wrist to pull away cleanly.

Tired little puffs of breath escaped his lips as he slumped a bit, tilting his head back, feeling sweat trickled over his Adam’s apple. 

That hadn’t been so bad. It was humiliating and nothing felt right about it, but they hadn’t hurt him. For some reason, he thought they would try to hurt him.

Abba turned away to twist a lid onto the sample. In that brief window of time, Castiel made the mistake of looking over at his roommate.

Winchester looked furious, staring across the room at the blank wall in front of them with his jaw clenched. Castiel saw him fighting something back, saw a vein in his forehead protrude and his face turn a bit red. His worker—her name was Meg—kept looking up at him, irritated. 

“Don’t be an idiot, Winchester,” she warned. “I’m getting six samples from you in this session whether you like it or not.”

Her hand slid faster over Winchester’s long cock, twisting over the head. She had a sample cup poised.

“Fuck,” Winchester breathed, and Castiel watched him come, shaking and groaning. He rested his sandy haired-head on his tensed bicep and his green eyes rolled back. It was apparent he was feeling pleasure very much against his wishes.

The sound of wheels rolling against tile shifted Castiel’s attention back below him, and warm, slick hands returned to his cock, sending a horrible feeling of panic to his stomach. He was too sensitive, it was too much, and how the hell was he still hard? It was like nothing had happened… His refractory period was just...gone?

Her hands slid over his skin and Castiel squeezed his eyes shut. It was uncomfortable. It almost hurt. 

But he came again, minutes later. As did the other men, one by one. And again, more minutes after that. Each deposit took longer and longer, but the moans in the room shifted from begrudging pleasure to moans of pain. 

After fourth ejaculation, Castiel finally broke his silence. 

“Please stop,” he begged, feeling raw, feeling exhausted. His stomach hurt, he felt nauseous, and the orgasms were horrible. They hurt, they were clearly urged on by something unnatural because his body was fighting it. His abs, pelvis, and thighs were spasming, squeezing painfully, almost uncontrollably. The very thought of having another orgasm in this short period of time was making him want to hurl.

“Do not speak,” Abba instructedly flatly, her eyes on her work as she pumped her hands, rolling a piece of gum in her mouth.

They weren’t allowed to speak, but Cas did finally let himself groan. As did the other men. Sense of embarrassment or coyness was quickly gone from the group as they were tortured. Beside him, Winchester was panting, gritting his teeth and wheezing a bit. Castiel even saw him try to jerk away at one point, but Dumah pushed herself off the far wall and came over to him, resting the point of her gun against his chest. 

Winchester glared at her, but remained still, letting Meg finish her job.

When orgasm number six hit him, there was nothing that even resembled pleasure coursing through him anymore. Rather, his muscles burned and with every pulse of his cock, Castiel felt the feeling of small razors slicing at his insides. His balls ached, his cock felt raw and painful. He’d been hard for too long, and frankly, he was in so much aching pain he didn’t ever want to be hard again. 

He never wanted anyone to touch him again. 

He felt himself sniffle sharply and exhale wetly, tears of pain and humiliation dragging down his face and getting caught in his stubble. 

Looks like he could start counting on both hands how many times he was going to cry in his adult life.

Abba offered no comfort, no apology, not even a spare glance towards him. She didn’t appear remorseful, just cold and closed off. She was too busy making sure the samples were sealed tightly instead of letting him out of the restraints or even pulling his pants up over the erection he still had.

She puttered around, sealing the samples in a plastic bag and labelling them. Eventually, as the other men finished up, she finally turned to him and stood, holding a little red pill between her fingers.

“Open,” she ordered.

Castiel pressed his lips together, shaking his head. 

She rolled her eyes. “Open or it won’t go away.”

He stared at her, not understanding, but then Winchester finally spoke up, his voice hoarse. “Take the pill, man. It gets rid of your boner.”

Castiel's brother used to say “boner” to make him laugh when they were kids. Now the word lost all hilarity and he found himself opening his mouth, desperate to be rid of the tight erection. The pill was hard to swallow with his mouth so dry, but he worked on it while Abba cleaned him off and pulled his scrubs back up. 

Everyone else seemed to be at the same point too, finishing up and winding down. The stress levels in the room were high, but the relief was palpable too. The workers cleaned up their prisoners and gave them matching red pills. In sync, they kneeled down and undid the ankle restraints, then the arm restraints. 

Castiel hissed in pain as his shoulders protested and his arms tingled numbly. Abba moved her stool and cart out of the way, uncaring as Castiel tried to take a step forward, but fell to his knees on the tile, struggling to keep himself up as his legs burned and his arms were numb. 

“Fuck, help him up, you bitch,” he heard Winchester say from behind him. “Don’t just leave him there—”

“Shut up, Winchester,” Meg’s cold voice murmured. “He’ll be fine. Abba, leave him.”

Castiel shuddered as pain coursed in waves from between his legs and up through his torso, his abdomen cramping, his legs trembling. He saw a few other men walk past him to the door, their legs trembling too. He thought they were going to leave him there, shaking on the floor at Abba’s feet, when he looked up to see Winchester kneeling beside him, tugging at his arm with both hands.

“Come on, man. Get up. I know it sucks, but this is a bad place to take a nap.”

Castiel felt himself laugh a little bit, the noise sounding like a pathetic little hiccup that he hoped Winchester wouldn’t judge him for. He felt a tear tumble off the end of his nose and drip onto the floor.

“Okay,” he breathed, pushing himself up. He had help once he managed to stand on quivering legs, with his arm being slung around Winchester’s shoulder. An arm went around his waist and he hoped his roommate couldn’t feel his muscles convulsing under his hand. 

“Come on, man,” Winchester whispered near his ear as they limped out of the room. “Let’s get you back to the room.”


	5. Dean

 

By the time they returned to their cell, the shaking in his hands had stopped, but there was still a dull, horrible ache between his legs that made Castiel want to crawl into a ball and be left alone forever.

As soon as his roommate opened the door to their cell, Castiel broke away from him and stumbled across the room. He wrenched open the bathroom door and barely made it to the toilet before he was throwing up pitifully.

“Yeah, that’ll happen the first few times,” he heard his roommate sigh. “I mean, the mix between all the new shit they pump into your system, and those boner meds, and the, oh, yeah, the rapey part that kinda fucks you up at first. That’ll...That’ll do it for ya.”

_Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry._ Castiel spit into the toilet and flushed, dragging his wrist over his mouth. His stomach hurt so badly he wasn’t sure if he was ready to leave yet, but then again, he wasn’t sure if he was ever ready to leave the dark shelter of the bathroom, so he forced himself to get up, whimpering as his muscles spasmed, and splash water on his face in the sink.

“You okay?” he heard Winchester ask.

Castiel reappeared from the bathroom, holding onto his stomach, his other hand gripping the supporting leg of his bunk bed. Tears burning in his eyes, he whispered, “How can they do that to people?”

Winchester was sitting on the bottom step of the ladder up to his bunk, his own arms around his stomach. He shrugged.

“I told you,” he murmured. “We’re not people. Not to them. Not anymore.”

Castiel moved slowly towards his bunk, limping. “I feel so violated.”

Winchester nodded. “Yeah. I know. Understatement of the century.” He paused, then winched up at Castiel as he watched him struggle to climb onto his bunk. “You, uh, wanna talk about it? I’m no good at comforting people, but if you wanna talk, I get it.”

Fuck, moving his legs hurt so much. His pelvis felt bruised. Castiel paused as his foot lifted onto the first step and he groaned, tilting his head down, his chin on his chest and his eyes squeezed shut.

For the second time in the last hour, he felt Winchester’s hands on him. This time they didn’t shake. They held onto Castiel’s waist and elbow, supportive and warm. Castiel looked up to see his roommate standing close.

Up close, his eyes were even prettier. His face wasn’t as pale anymore, and his freckles blended into his tanned skin better. His emerald eyes softened and he smiled a bit.

“Need help?”

Castiel looked away but nodded. “Yes.”

“I’m Dean by the way,” Winchester whispered, eyes searching Castiel’s face.

Leaning into the warm touch, Castiel nodded. “I’m Castiel.”

“That’s a mouthful,” Dean said with a flash of a grin. “I’m just gonna call you Cas.”

“‘Kay,” Castiel said, wincing as his stomach clenched and sent a hot wave of pain down through his torso. Dean caught on and took his hand, linking their fingers for a minute as he helped guide Cas up onto his bed.

Castiel fell onto the mattress with a groan and he pulled his legs up to his chest, shuddering against the pain. He let his eyes slide closed, but felt Dean pull covers over him, jerked up to his shoulders.

“Who knew handjobs could feel so bad?” Dean said, obviously trying to lighten the mood, though he too struggled up onto his bed after he turned away from Castiel’s, hissing as he hoisted himself up onto the mattress. Castiel opened his eyes for a moment to see Dean pale, his lips looking a bit grey.

Pained green eyes met his and Dean smiled tightly. “It still fucking sucks, but if it’s any consolation, you get used to it. Kinda. Sometimes it’s better than others. Like, this morning, I was pretty sure I was gonna blow chunks all over my bed, it was rough. But sometimes you feel a lot better by the time you get back to your room.”

While Dean’s voice was actually rather pleasant and the friendliness was a welcome contrast to the grunting and rejection of this morning, Castiel couldn’t very well talk back much with the sick churning in his stomach. He shifted his face into his pillow and blinked tiredly at Dean, feeling exhaustion pull at him.

Quietly, he asked against his pillow, his voice a bit muffled by the sheets, “How long have you been here?”

Dean shifted a bit on his bed so he could see Castiel clearly through the railing alongside his mattress. He yanked covers over stomach, tucking them under his arms.

They stared at each other for a long second, then Dean murmured, “Just nine days. I went to get tested on the second available testing day. They had me tested, thrown onto the grey van, and shipped out here within like three hours.”

Doing quick math, though thinking felt hazy, Castiel winced and asked, “So you’ve gone to…to the, um, dairy farm twenty-seven times?”

Dean’s brows shot up a bit. He played idly with a string loose on the hem of his pillow. “Nah. The first day they examine you and let the come-smoothie settle in your system, so technically it would've been twenty-six times. Though I was, uh, kinda resistant at first—”

“At first?” Castiel asked, feeling a distant feeling of amusement pushing through the growing depression.

Dean winked at him from across the room. “Well, more resistant than I was now. I did a bunch of shit to piss them off and I ended up locked in solitary for three days. So really, it’s been like, I dunno, 15 visits to the dairy farm? I had been counting when I first started but…y’know, you kinda feel hopeless after a while.”

Dean went quiet. They both watched him twine and untwine the thread around his finger for a little bit. Then Dean’s eyes flickered back up to Castiel’s face and again, that warm smile graced his features.

“Sorry, I kinda brought the mood down, huh?”

Castiel nodded. “Yeah. I was having such a good time before you came in here with that sad comment.”

Again, the black cloud of depression parted for a brief moment as Dean’s brows shot up onto his forehead and he seemed to laugh involuntarily, surprised by Cas’ deadpan joke. The laugh was pleasing to hear, but it was instantly cut short when Dean moaned into his pillow, turning his face into the linen.

“Ow, Cas. Don’t make me laugh, it makes my balls kill.”

Cas released a huff of laughter, but then groaned and curled up a bit, knowing exactly what Dean was talking about when he felt a horrible dull ache between his legs.

“Noted. Although don’t say ‘balls’, it makes me laugh,” Castiel coughed. “When I was little, my cousin Gabe used to replace popular song lyrics with ‘balls’ to amuse me.”

Dean nodded, winking at Castiel again. That was twice now that he’d done that. “Should I call them something else? What about ‘meat kiwis’?”

“Disgusting,” Castiel moaned as he laughed abruptly, smiling into the pillow, partially hating Dean for making him laugh and appreciating his efforts to lighten the mood.

“My brother Sam used to call them ‘penis boobs’ when he was a kid, before he got all adult and smart.”

That one had Castiel laughing way too hard into the pillow, really, _really_ hating Dean for that joke on so many levels. His body ached from the stomach-down, but the light feeling in his chest that accompanied the laughter was certainly welcome.

“Please, Dean. Stop. I’m going to throw up.”

Dean grinned. “All right, all right. I’ll have to ask you another time what were your favourite songs that your cousin remixed with ‘balls’.”

“Another time,” Castiel assured him quietly, his mouth still curved into a smile as Dean beamed at him from across the room.

 

***

“Who’re you gonna call with your phone call?” Dean asked Castiel one day over breakfast.

It was obvious that he was trying to lighten the mood. Breakfast seemed to be the hardest time of day for Castiel; he had two deposit sessions to look forward to. The very prospect had him wallowing in a dark place every morning, unable to feel any kind of joy for the day to come; from the moment he woke up to the end of that second deposit, he felt terror. The only time he felt happiness at all was recovering with Dean in the bunks after the second deposit, where Dean tried to make him laugh and wouldn’t let him sulk. Everything in between though? It was pain and exhaustion and it was everything about this place tearing away his individualism. He’d been at the facility for four days now and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it. He didn’t know how Dean stayed so playful.

Well, he didn’t know how Dean was so playful with _him_. Dean harboured a lot of rage for pretty much anything else. But on top of always dangling “potential release” over everyone’s heads, over the past two days, the guards had announced that the first bi-monthly phone call to the external world would be today after the second deposit. It seemed to bring Dean a spark of hope, but Castiel felt nothing but anger in the pit of his stomach. The one person he wanted to call he also despised.

“I don’t know,” Castiel replied, shrugging and scooping a gross mouthful of bland chia pudding into his mouth.

Dean waved his spoon around and shook his head. “There’s gotta be someone! Come on, Cas. Mom, dad, sister, cousin, girlfriend—” he paused, then added with a wink, “—boyfriend? Husband?”

Castiel glared flatly at a random man sat across from him, who wasn’t paying attention to anything other than his food.

“Dead, dead, dead, presumed dead, and no,” Castiel replied. “No girlfriend or boyfriend or husband.”

Dean scowled then gestured to Castiel’s left hand, spotting a ring on his second finger.

“That’s a pretty nice wedding ring for a single guy.”

Castiel put down his fork and immediately began attempts to tug off the ring. Through his teeth, he said hotly, “It’s not a wedding ring, it was a promise ring. We were going to get married after her father got better—”

Dean’s fork got waved around again, and around a mouthful of chia, Dean said casually, “Nah, it’s cool, Cas. You don’t have to take it off, I can see it just fine from here— _ooookay,_ and you just threw it across the room. Cool.”

The ring zipped over people’s heads and clinked against the opposite wall. Guards spun around, weapons up, but no one had seen who threw it. A puzzled guard picked up the ring, scowling at it before she pocketed it and kept on her patrol.

“Uh,” Dean said eloquently. “So...I take it the promise was broken then?”

Castiel tucked back into his meal, his face burning. Thinking about Daphne made his stomach hurt and his eyes go blurry.

“She gave me up. She sold me out to this place.”

Castiel kept eating, but he felt Dean staring at him.

It went on too long and Castiel imagined he probably looked like a tomato. “Stop staring at me,” he whispered at a spoonful of chia.

Dean nudged him with his elbow and Castiel forced himself to look up from his food, feeling humiliated.

“I’m sorry that happened,” Dean whispered, his eyes a bit wide, the green bright like grass. Castiel immediately remembered he hadn’t felt sunlight on his skin in almost five days, but the colour in Dean’s eyes was the closest thing to the beauty of nature in this cold, clinical environment. Dean blinked and Castiel was pulled out of the landscape he created in his mind from the grassy green. “She didn’t deserve you,” Dean finished.

Castiel’s lips turned in a bit, and he realised he was trying to smile but his wobbly chin was making it hard. He had to look away quickly and pretend to itch under his eye to catch one rogue tear that threaten to fall.

“It’s nothing,” he whispered, stirring his slop breakfast.

Dean snorted. “It don’t seem like ‘nothing’, Cas. You just threw a solid gold ring across the room, past a bunch of pissed off ladies with guns, it—”

“She doesn’t mean anything to me anymore,” Castiel burst out, the words tumbling from his lips before he could control it. “We...we hadn’t been okay for a while. Her father got sick a year ago and she got stressed, and she was tired all the time. It was hardly a relationship; we just watched TV together and slept in the same bed.” He paused, gathering himself. “She was my best friend, but we barely saw each other anymore. When I got laid off last week, that had been the most I’d seen of her in months.”

They fell back into silence.

The clinking of their spoons against ceramic bowls joined the rest of the clinking from over two dozen other prisoners.

Then Castiel felt another of Dean’s elbows get him in the ribs.

“What?” he asked, irately, lifting his head.

Dean spooned pudding into his mouth and smiled, his cheeks puffy with food. “So you don’t have a boyfriend, then?”

Castiel couldn’t help it. He cracked a smile and his shoulders lifted just once as he enjoyed a brief huff of laughter.

“No, Dean. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“No boyfriend, no girlfriend,” Dean listed off, swallowing his pudding. “What’re you gonna do with this new single life?”

Castiel scowled, staring up at the ceiling. Then, he tilted his gaze to Dean and replied dryly, “I’m going to get twelve handjobs a day from mean ladies in lab coats.”

Dean laughed so hard chia seeds came out of his nose.

“You have a sense of humour under all rasp and deadpan, huh?” Dean chortled into his hand, wiping away rogue chia. “Who knew?”

Eager to move on from discussions of Daphne, Castiel took a page out of Dean’s book and nudged him in the ribs.

“Who are you calling, then? For your one call,” Castiel asked, changing the subject.

Dean looked around suspiciously, then leaned in close to Castiel’s face. They were so close, their arms and shoulders pressed together. It was close enough to get lost in that sunny, grassy landscape again.

Dean beamed. “My little brother, Sam.”

Castiel rested his chin on his own shoulder and he teased, “You talk about him so much, are you sure you’re not married to him?”

Dean grinned and raised his hand, flashing Castiel the middle finger. “While I do swing that way, and while my brother and I fight like a married couple; gross. No, listen, he’s a—” Dean looked around again, then whispered, his eyes excited, “He’s a human rights lawyer over in California. Just joined a big firm and everything. Something to do with cyber security and human rights, blah blah blah. Anyway, I’m thinkin’ he could help get me out.”

Castiel’s heart sunk at the very bleak prospect of being stuck in the facility without Dean. Then his heart did a strange little backflip as Castiel realised Dean just admitted to being gay.

“Oh?” Castiel found himself asking accidentally, the question coming out like a breath. He was curious about the swinging-that-way portion, but Dean carried on excitedly about calling his brother.

Dean nudged his shoulder and added, “And you too, duh. Anyway, if he knew how they’re treating us in here? His head would fucking explode off his shoulders. Sam would have this place shut down in like twenty-four hours, and he’d come in guns blazing, with civic suits and class action this-and-that. I dunno much about the law, but he’d tear Naomi a new one.”

“I hope you reach him,” Castiel supplied, smiling a bit. What he didn’t tell Dean is that he wasn’t sure one lawyer from California was going to be able to do anything about the mass sexual assault and captivity of thousands of people in a state he didn’t even practice in.

“Grace! Winchester!” one of the guards barked. Dean and Cas sat up straight, breaking apart, their shoulders and arms no longer touching. The guard’s name was Hannah, as per her name tag. She waved at them and scowled. “Enough canoodling. Is this going to be a problem, boys?”  
  


Castiel bristled. He was a man in his mid-thirties. He didn’t appreciate some girl in her twenties calling him a “boy”.

And to be considered “canoodling” with Dean made his cheeks warm.

“Nah,” Dean replied sarcastically, his tone unkind as he directed it and a glare at Hannah. “No problem here, miss. He won’t go out with me anyway, keeps saying I’m too forward.”

“Very funny, Winchester,” Hannah snapped, rolling her eyes.

Dean shrugged after her as she walked away. “He says all I do is sit around and jerk off all day! ‘Get a job and I’ll think about it’, he says. What’s a girl to do, Hannah!?”

“Shut the fuck up, Winchester,” Hannah called out boredly, adjusting her gun across her waist.


	6. Solitary

Castiel’s favourite time of day—his time with Dean after the second deposit—was destroyed by an announcement made by Naomi at dinner.

There were no phone calls to be had that month. She claimed the phone lines between states were shut down. Interstate communication was on a freeze, and phone calls to family and friends within the state were being postponed until “reassignments had settled”. 

“The residential status of millions of South Dakota residents is still currently in transition, and the administration here at The Facility believe it would be too time-consuming to redirect and search out contact information for individuals on the outside.” She eyed the dozens of disappointed, heartbroken men with uncaring eyes. “We will revisit the idea of phone calls again in two weeks time, at which point we hope it contact information will be more reliable and less time-consuming.”

She didn’t say “thank you”, or “please enjoy the rest of your meal”. Everyone knew she wouldn’t mean it, and there was the very blatant understanding that she didn’t care if she was impolite. She had, after all, just plucked yet another element of their individuality away from them; family, friends, communication.

Castiel didn’t care about his phone call; he had no one he wanted to speak to right now, but he immediately turned in his seat to Dean, who was staring at Naomi’s back like he was hoping she would burst into flames. Castiel had seen Dean angry several times over the past week, but the murderous look in his eye now was unsettling.

“Dean, I’m so sorry,” Cas whispered, trying to catching Dean’s gaze, but Dean was uninterested, instead keeping a steady focus on Naomi. “You’ll talk to Sam in two weeks. They’ll get the phone lines working and—”

“The phone lines work just fine,” Dean said steadily, his voice low. He sounded frightening. 

Of course the phone lines were working. Everyone knew it, Castiel included. The administration would be having a meltdown if they lost all communication to external states.

Castiel wasn’t sure what to say again, so he just reached out and took Dean’s pinky finger between his two fingers, and he shook it a bit. The peculiar little touch had Dean blinking and finally turning his gaze to Castiel, his brows doing a little twitch of confusion.

“You’ll speak with Sam,” Castiel reassured, linking their pinkies and giving the finger a tiny squeeze. “Perhaps not now, but eventually.”

“Are you religious, Grace?” Hannah’s voice sounded from behind them. She had leaned over and was in their personal space.

Castiel jumped, while Dean just turned his head slowly towards her, his gaze poisonous.

“Um,” Castiel’s eyes flickered to Dean, then nervously up to Hannah. “My father was a pastor. Why?”

Hannah narrowed her eyes at him and then gestured between him and Dean. “Then the phrase ‘leave room for Jesus’ will sounds familiar. Cut it out with the hand holding or I’ll have to do something about you two sitting beside each other at meals.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” Dean snapped at her, like his fuse was at his end and he’d been bursting to ask her. 

Hannah’s mouth opened to reply, but was interrupted by Naomi, who was on her way out of the mess hall. She paused, having heard Dean. Her entourage of armoured dickheads stopped behind her, and Naomi smiled in a way that had Castiel’s stomach churning. He quickly yanked his fingers away from Dean’s.

“Hannah, what’s the problem?” she asked boredly.

Hannah shifted her feet and cleared her throat. “Nothing I can’t handle, Naomi.”

“That wasn’t my question,” Naomi repeated, her silver eyes darting over to Hannah with a flash. “My question was, what is the problem here?”

Hesitancy flashed across Hannah’s face, then she replied tightly, “These two were holding hands.”

“We weren’t,” Castiel replied before he could stop himself. 

Naomi narrowed her eyes. “Mr. Grace, perhaps you should retract that statement before you’re forced to explain to me why I just saw your hand move away from Mr. Winchester's lap. Perhaps you haven’t been informed already, but any romantic, sexual, or physical relationships are strictly forbidden in The Facility. We can’t risk any samples to be wasted needlessly.”

Her meaning was expressly clear; no extra-curricular orgasms were to be had. Regardless to the fact that they were _not_ holding hands, Castiel felt a flutter of panic in his stomach anyway at the idea that he wasn’t allowed to have a relationship lest the government punish him. It, like many other things in this place, didn’t seem like something that should be governed by anyone other than the individual.

“Understood, Naomi. I’m sorry,” Castiel replied, his throat dry. He turned away from her and picked up his fork, pretending to go back to eating, though the thought of eating any more soggy, tasteless spinach and dry chicken made him nauseous.

Naomi nodded curtly and moved on, taking her entourage of goons with her. Hannah remained behind, looking down her nose at them, eyes unreadable.

Dean remained still, his hands curled into fists in his lap. Castiel could feel him shaking a bit beside him, and could practically feel him staring at him, burning holes into the side of his head. Castiel wondered briefly if his hair was starting to smoke.

“Winchester,” Hannah said quietly, her voice warning, “face your plate and eat. Don’t cause anymore trouble for yourself.”

Dean didn’t speak to Castiel for the rest of the night.

***

Castiel knew that Dean was angry with him last night. He knew Dean saw him as a coward for not firing back at Naomi, for even going as far as to apologize to her. 

Dean had gotten ready for bed and climbed under the sheets in his bunk, back to Cas. 

It felt terrible. Lonely. Isolating. 

Castiel found the morning even worse to deal with than usual, and he realised it was because having to deal with everything was infinitely harder with Dean angry with him. Dean was the only thing that kept him smiling everyday.

Dean was still clearly still angry with Naomi, too. He was furious he hadn’t gotten his call, he was a wound-up, tight ball of fury from the moment he woke up to when they left their cell for breakfast. 

To make matters worse, Dean didn’t walk with Castiel to breakfast. He lingered behind, talking hushedly to a group of other prisoners, who then dispersed and joined their respective little cliques. Castiel noticed the crying boy from the other day was one of them, looking nervous, twisting his fingers at his sides and pressing his lips into a tight little line.

Something was going on, but he wasn’t sure what it was. He wanted to ask Dean, but had lost track of him at some point...probably at the point when he’d realised he was staring and being creepy.

Castiel watched his own feet as he followed the queue to the mess hall. And when he entered the large room, he regretted not lingering by Dean. He didn’t want to eat with strangers. 

To his surprise, Dean slide in beside him just as everyone was getting settled. 

“Do you trust me?” Dean murmured, nudging Castiel and forcing him to make eye contact. When blue met green, Castiel thought the day might get better.

The day would only prove to get worse.

“Yes,” Castiel replied simply. He had no idea why that had come out with such ease, but it did and Dean’s eyes sparkled at the reply, making it totally worth it.

“Good,” Dean nodded. “So don’t eat. Don’t touch the food no matter what they say.”

Castiel’s eyes went wide and he glanced down at the raspberry oat slop with flaxseed that they had presented in front of him. 

“Is something wrong with it?”

But Dean was distracted, watching the other prisoners finish getting seated. “Because I’m not the only one who’s pissed about yesterday and we’re gonna get our call, one way or another. I tried a hunger strike when I first got here but it didn’t work with just me.”

Castiel stared at him, then looked around and saw a number of other prisoners leaned close together, having similar discussions. 

No one had touched their plates. 

“They’ll hurt us,” Castiel murmured. “They won’t let this happen.”

The guards were starting to notice something was up. Rachel was frowning and murmuring to Dumah.

“They can’t hurt us all,” Dean replied, his voice low, his eyes on the guards too. “They need us to eat. If we hunger strike for enough time, they won’t be able to get samples. Not good ones, anyway.”

Castiel was starting to feel a bit of panic as the guards all gathered in the middle of the mess hall, whispering amongst themselves.

“Dean, it would take actual starvation to damage the integrity of the samples—”

Dean leaned in close. “Cas. They won't be able to get _six_ out of each of us. One, two, maybe? Three useful samples, _maybe_. They want us to eat. They want to ship out quality product. It’s why they feed us all this hippy bullshit, and the smoothies, and why they try to raise our testosterone levels. Cas, you wanna get out of here, right?”

“Yes,” Cas breathed, feeling breathless by the intense way Dean was looking at him. “Of course I do.”

Dean blinked. “Then help me, the one time I ask.”

They stared at each other.

Then, Castiel nodded. “Okay.”

“Thank you,” Dean breathed. “Thank you, Cas. I—”

“What is going on here?” Dumah called out, her angry demand for information causing the entire room to hush. Her dark gaze swept over the men in the room, flashing with suspicion. “Someone explain.”

The room remained silent. Castiel looked around, seeing some men staring at Dumah and her fellow guards with the same calibre of hatred that Dean harboured for them, while others looked nervous or scared. Many eyes were downcast to their untouched plates.

Many were on Dean.

“Eat!” Dumah barked.

No one made any moves other than uncomfortable shifting and looking at each other.

“If no one speaks up, there will be consequences!” Dumah barked, turning in her spot, her teeth gritted.

“Consequences? Like what?” Dean spoke up, his tone sarcastic. His voice sounded loud in the silence, voice carrying across the large space. He tilted his head a bit, eyes narrowed to slits, his lip curled with displeasure. “Like no phone calls to our friends and families?”

Rachel piped in, lowering her weapon. Her boots squeaked against the hard tile floor. Shaking her head, she sneered, “Is this what the hunger strike is for? Because you couldn’t speak to your buds and mommies? The phone lines—”

“—aren’t broken,” Dean finished for her, spitting. “That’s bullshit. We all know it’s bullshit. You label us as cowards and criminals, though half of us are only here because we’re from the poor side of town. Cut the shit, Dumah. We’re cowards, and we’re criminals, and we’re poor, but we not stupid. We want that phone call. I think you fuckers owe us that.”

“Is that right?”

Naomi’s cold voice rang out through the mess hall, rivaling Dean’s. She stepped out from the doorway hidden to their left. Her boots clunked over the floor, her hands were tucked behind her back. She lacked Dumah’s anger and confusion. She merely stared at Dean like he was a gross lab specimen. After all, Castiel thought, that’s probably all she saw them as.

“You think we’ll bow to your insolence, Winchester?” Naomi asked, one brow raised. “You think we’ll bend to your intimidation techniques? Your hunger strike will do nothing but send you to bed hungry, and if it persists, you’ll wither away within a few weeks.”

“You need us,” Dean pushed through his teeth. Castiel saw the tiniest flash of self-doubt cross Dean’s furious gaze, but it was gone instantly and the mask of bravery fell into place once more. 

Naomi stopped in front of Dean, towering over a man sitting opposite to them who wouldn’t raise his eyes from his plate.

With smug smirk, Naomi said, “Pieces of shit like you are a dime a dozen; the reassignments are still taking place outside these walls and I’m sure I can find thirty-five fresh bodies to fill your places. There are one-hundred and seventy-three thousand Erections-On-Legs like you just waiting for a cell and a pair of scrubs to enter their lives.”

She looked up and around at the room of men, her smirk curling further, her eyes glittering. “So starve then. It takes three weeks for the human body to decay from starvation, but only three days without water. All water supplies will be cut off until you eat. The bathrooms in your cells will be locked; no sinks, no toilets. You will not be permitted to leave your cells until this farce ends.” Naomi unclasped her hands behind her back and clapped them together in front of her chest. “Enjoy living in your own shit.”

She didn’t even make it three steps before the hall erupted in clinking of forks against ceramic. 

Cas watched Dean’s brave face melt away as he saw everyone give in. 

“Fucking cowards,” he whispered, staring around. “They gave in _just like that_. Did they think it would be easy—”

He was interrupted by Naomi returning to her place in front of Dean, this time escorted by two of her goons. Castiel bristled as Dumah and Rachel crowded them from behind, casting an ominous shadow on them. Still, Dean glared at Naomi.

“This was your idea, Winchester?” Naomi asked simply.

Dean flashed her a mean little smile. “Sure was.”

“Hmm, I see,” Naomi hummed, brows shooting up like she was having a casual, light-hearted think about something. Then she looked between Dean and Castiel, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Dumah, take Mr. Grace to Solitary.”

Castiel jumped a foot in the air when Both Dumah and Rachel grabbed him by the arms, jerking him up out of his seat. 

“What?!” he and Dean both exclaimed in tandem, though Dean carried on in a panic, his head turning frantically between Naomi and Castiel, who was being dragged out roughly from his place on the bench. “H-He didn’t fucking do _anything_! It was all my idea—”

“Let me go!” Castiel fought back, jerking his arm out of Rachel’s grasp, though his freedom was short-lived when Dumah swung the butt of her gun into his kidney. Castiel doubled over in pain, his arms wrenched back to be immediately zip-tied together. 

Many people stopped eating to stare, eyes fearful.

Dean was on his feet to help, but a third woman in armour slid up to him and pointed a gun at his face. Wide green eyes darted from the muzzle of the gun to Castiel, who was coughing and still fighting back, his heels digging into the floor as they tried to lug him away.

“Stop!” Dean’s voice cried out. “He’s not part of this. Naomi, please—”

Naomi’s laughter sounded from behind Castiel, whose chest was heaving in panic, recalling what Dean had told him about Solitary.

“Oh, it’s ‘Naomi, please’, now?”

“Naomi, punish me instead. It was all my idea. He didn’t even know about it until he sat down. He—”

Naomi made a noise of impatience and snapped, “Mr. Grace is going to learn about what happens to him when he fraternizes with you. I understand you two have forged somewhat of a bond over your stay here, and my hopes are that he will understand that getting too close to you is a mistake. He’s not to serve _you_ , he’s to serve The Facility, do you understand?”

“Please let me go, Dumah,” Castiel begged, feet still sliding against the floor, his body recoiling from the pincer grips the women had on his arms. “I-I didn’t do any—”

“You did this to him, do you understand, Winchester? When you string along all these men to participate with your silly little protests, you hurt everyone and help no one.”

“Naomi, God, please, just let him g—”

“He will serve your punishment, Winchester,” he cold voice replied. “A few days in Solitary should do the trick.”

Although he knew he shouldn’t, Castiel looked back and caught Dean’s eye.

The broken look in those green eyes would stay with him for days.

***

Castiel’s time in Solitary was quite easily the worst three days of his entire life. 

Everything in Solitary was white, small, hard, and cramped. They never turned off the bright fluorescent light that shone down on him, the bulbs too high up for him to smash, not even to sleep. 

The “bed” was a hard mat on the floor, right beside a singular toilet. No sink, no bunk to provide shelter from the light, and there was always a faint hum that drove him crazy. At one point Castiel had pulled his shirt over his head, plugged his ears with his fingers, and tried to sing under his breath to make the fucking humming go away. He prayed for sleep, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit that he cried more than a few times when sleep wouldn’t come. 

The door didn’t have any bars or a window on it. He had no clock to tell the time. He was so fucking lonely that he shed a few tears about that, too. There was nothing to do, nothing to look at, and he couldn’t even sleep because he was so anxious and terrified.

His meals came in liquid form and were disgusting. It occurred to him after he choked down his third smoothie, which tasted disgustingly like roast beef, that they were blending the meals everyone else enjoyed in solid form and feeding it to him. 

What was worse, what was the most fucked up, was that they had no intention of having him miss his deposits. Rather, they forced him to drink the bulking smoothies that Dean affectionately called “come-smoothies” in mass quantities and then took him to the dairy farm, alone, after everyone else had finished, and took twelve samples from him in one go.

The pain was extraordinary, and he quickly discovered he must be allergic to something in the smoothies, because they made him terribly sick, rife with nausea and stomach pain. 

But the absolute worst part of Solitary? It was the fact that he looked forward to someone coming to retrieve him for the deposits; at least, for those five minutes that it took from them to walk him to the dairy farm, he was around other living and breathing humans. That’s what hurt the most, that’s what filled him with shame. Even the torture was almost welcome because at least someone else was in the room with him. Abba seemed to have been given instructions not to speak to him, but sometimes he got Meg, and she seemed to have a soft spot for him, because she talked a bit when they first begun their session.

He knew he was only supposed to be there for three days, but time seemed not to pass in that small, tall, bright white room. For a delirious moment at some point in the three days, he wondered if it had been weeks.

Then, the doors opened one day and Hannah was there, jerking her head out into the hallway, ordering gruffly, “Ready to rejoin your flock? Times up, Mr. Grace.”

He felt the impulse to hug her, which was ridiculous. Ridiculous and also physically impossible. Between super-charged, twelve-orgasms-in-one-go sessions with Meg and Abba, feeling sick from the bulking smoothie, and sleeping on what was essentially a yoga mat, Cas was having trouble walking on his own. 

Hannah came in and helped him up. She escorted him to his cell and leaned him up against the corridor wall as she unlocked his cell.

He expected to be more furious with Dean. After all, the hunger strike shenanigans Dean asked him to pull was exactly what landed him in Solitary in the first place. 

But as soon as he saw Dean in the cell, the anger melted away. Castiel had been the one to agree to participate. He’d wanted to help Dean. He’d wanted him to get that phone call, because it _might_ get them out, but mostly because Dean’s eyes lit up when he talked about Sam.

And Naomi had been the bitch to lock him up. She’d made that choice, not Dean.

Hannah shoved him in and Castiel managed not to tip forward as the cell door closed behind him. 

Dean stood in the middle of the room, looking lost, looking broken as he stared at Cas. His hands were curled into fists at his sides, fingers rubbing nervously.

Castiel opened his mouth to try and crack a joke that might make Dean smile, but nothing came to mind. And no time was given for him to think up of something either, because Dean strode forward and threw his arms around Cas’ shoulders, fingers gripping the back of his shirt desperately.

“I’m so sorry, Cas. I’m so fucking sorry,” Dean whispered, his breath tickling the patch of skin between Castiel’s neck and shoulders. 

Though it hurt to move, Castiel hugged back, his arms snaking around Dean’s ribs shyly at first. But when Dean began to sway a bit, and Castiel heard what sounded suspiciously like a sad little sniffle, his grip tightened and his fingers dug into Dean’s shirt.

“It’s okay. I’m just...happy to be back,” Castiel admitted, and he realised, although their cell was cramped and The Facility was overall a hell hole, it was true, he was happy to be back with Dean. Feeling overwhelmed, Castiel said, before he could control himself, “I missed you.”

He nearly kicked himself for saying so, and expected Dean to jerk back and away, but it never happened. On the contrary, Dean pulled back only a little and beamed at Cas, before he grabbed him by the head and planted a kiss at his hairline. 

Castiel was pulled into another hug, and Dean seemed to sag with relief.

“Same, Cas,” Dean laughed against his shoulder. “I missed you. Fuck, I worried. I-I know what it’s like down there, and you didn’t deserve it. I can’t believe they took you. I swear, I haven’t slept for days. The fucking guilt, it...it’s just been eating at me. That _fucking bitch_ Naomi has been taunting me about you for days. I just didn’t know she would punish you instead of me, Cas. If I knew that, if I knew I wouldn’t be punished for it, I would’ve never… Cas? Cas?”

The exhaustion, the physical pain in his muscles, the cramping, the churning in his stomach, the nausea, the loneliness, and now Dean’s guilt all crashed in at once, down onto Castiel’s diminishing mental health. Before he knew what was happening, in the middle of Dean’s guilty rambling, hot, thick tears coated Castiel’s eyes and his chin crumpled where it rested on Dean’s shoulder. Little hiccups for air soon turned into shoulder-shaking sobs.

He wept into Dean’s t-shirt and clung to him like a lifeline. Dean just held him tighter, and the hands that made fists into Cas’ shirt smoothed out and rubbed circles instead.

“You okay, Cas?” Dean whispered.

All Castiel could do was shake his head, and whimper thickly, “I feel sick.”

...which was technically true. He felt overwhelmingly nauseous. He did feel sick, but he was mainly sick of torture, and pain, and loneliness, and sick of Naomi, sick of smoothies, and humiliation. He was sick of being afraid.

When Cas’ shoulders gave one last shaky heave, he meant to say something to save himself from the terrible humiliation that would happen when he pulled away and saw Dean’s awkward facial expression, but that didn’t happen. 

Dean, to his surprise, just ran his hands over Castiel’s cheeks, pulling away fifteen minutes of crying and blubbering with his palms, and brushed one last falling tear with his thumb. He bumped Castiel’s chin with his knuckle and murmured, with an accompanying wink, “Still handsome.”

Castiel couldn’t help it. He shut his eyes for a moment and laughed a little breathy laugh. It was all he could manage, after feeling thoroughly exhausted now in every single way. 

Dean ducked a bit to catch his eye when Castiel opened them again, and he shot him a devilish little toothy smile. “You need a shave, there, Cas. Lucky for you, tomorrow is Monday and that means we get showers and a shave, and they actually give us these little travel-sized deodorants that, honestly, I suggest hoarding. They’re no Old Spice, but they run out fast and—”

“I’m not mad at you, Dean,” Castiel whispered, running his wrist under his nose, sniffing sharply.

Dean went silent.

“You don’t have to say that,” Dean murmured, his green eyes darting between Castiel’s blue ones. “What I did, and what I asked you and everyone to do, it was stupid.”

Castiel rested his hand on Dean’s shoulder, aware that they were still standing obscenely close. But he whispered, “It was stupid for the right reasons,” and it became apparent that this closeness was just how Dean wanted it, because Castiel was pulled into another crushing hug.

“I’m sorry about all the tears. That’s embarrassing,” Castiel murmured into his shoulder before Dean pulled away.

As Dean looped an arm around his waist and helped him to bed, Dean said with a laugh, “Your secret is safe with me, man. I’ve had my fair share of tears since I got here.” He paused, linking their hands and helping Castiel climb up into bed. Jokingly, he winked and added, “Y’know, manly tears though. Like, I’ll squeeze out one and call it a day.”

“Of course,” Castiel murmured, giving Dean’s fingers one last squeeze before he twisted his aching torso and crawled into bed, relieved to sleep on a real mattress, even it it was shitty and lumpy. The pillow was crap but it felt like a fluffy, heavenly cloud compared to the hard jack-squat he’d been provided to rest his head in Solitary. 

Castiel curled into a ball, exhaling carefully through his mouth, breathing through terrible stomach cramps. It took a lot of effort not to vomit.

He felt a hand on his leg, and when Castiel opened his eyes again, Dean was still standing on the ladder to the bunk, eyes sad.

“I’m sorry they punished you.”

“Yes, you said that already.” But Castiel only had smiles for Dean, even when he felt like shit.

Dean climbed up onto Castiel’s bunk and sat on the edge, his feet on the steps. He looked around and Castiel saw his throat working a bit. Perhaps, Castiel thought, there was one of those single man tears threatening to fall. It made his stomach hurt worse with guilt.

Shifting a bit, so he had a better view of his cellmate, Castiel slid his feet under the covers, and he found himself pressing them against Dean, who was warm in the otherwise cold room.

“Did she come back and hurt you at all?” Castiel asked quietly.

Dean ducked his head a bit and rubbed at his lips. He shook his head. “Nah. I was waiting to be thrown in Solitary too, or, I dunno, starved or something, but nothing came. I thought I was in the clear, but the night after you were taken, she started dropping by.”

Dean sniffed sharply and stared at his bunk across the room. 

“For three nights, she dropped by and would update me on you. She said shit like, _‘He doesn’t seem to sleep, blue eyes. The guards tell me he just keeps screaming, asking what time it is,’_ or...or, um, _‘he spent a few hours today begging for us to stop, pleading with us to release him’._ And then she got creative. She would lean on the door and just go on and on, like she didn’t have anything better to do. _‘At first he kept asking for you, then after a day or so, he told us you could rot in hell, that he hated you.’_ ” Dean’s head turned towards Cas, but his eyes stared at the bunk railing, a smattering of red gracing his nose and cheeks. “Is that true, Cas?”

Dean only looked up and made eye contact when Castiel nudged him with his toe. 

“That’s not true, Dean. None of that was true.”

Dean flinched a bit, like he’d been hit. “You don’t gotta lie, Cas. I know what it’s like down there. I know it kinda makes you crazy—”

“I wrapped my t-shirt around my head one night to sleep, and I tried to use the toilet as leverage to jump up and smash the light bulbs,” Castiel explained, happy when Dean’s eyes lit up a bit. “But other than that, my stay was boring. It was so lonely and I couldn’t tell that time was passing, but I never begged and I definitely never said I hated you.”

Finally, one of Dean’s genuine smiles curled onto his lips and Castiel felt at least a little better from it. He wasn’t sure what possessed him, but he reached out and uncurled his fingers, his palm open to Dean.

Dean stared at it, and his throat worked for a second, then he slowly lifted his hand from Castiel’s leg, and moved it through the air, hesitant, nervous. His fingers hovered over Castiel’s for a second, but then his palm dropped and their fingers intertwined, linked together in the sheets.

They stared at each other.

“You look like shit, Cas.”

It couldn’t be helped, Castiel laughed. It seemed typical of Dean to say something funny to diffuse an emotional situation.

“Yes, I know. I feel like it, too.”

Dean ran his thumb over the side of Castiel’s palm, and his green eyes twinkled a bit. 

Castiel sighed, feeling his stomach clench again and a horrible wave of nausea overwhelming him for a moment. When it passed, he exhaled slowly and whispered, “They kept taking me to the dairy farm, but only once a day. They shoved those bulking smoothies down my throat.” The memory had blood draining from his face, leaving him feeling cold. “Dean, I think I’m allergic to them. The more they gave me, the worse I felt. I just...feel awful. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to go to the dairy farm tomorrow.”

Dean looked thoughtful for a moment, then he squeezed Castiel’s hand and said with determination, “We’ll figure it out.”


	7. In The Dark

Something was wrong. He was definitely allergic to the smoothies. The one they’d given him on his first day definitely made him feel sick, but the mass quantities they’d forced him to drink in Solitary, no doubt as a punishment as well as a strategy for getting more samples from him at once, were taking a toll. They were taking too long to leave his system, and the idea was terrible because he knew he was due to have another in a few days, as per their weekly schedule.

He threw up all night, so badly one point that Dean had woken up and let himself into the small, cramped bathroom. There wasn’t enough room for two grown men to fit in that space, but Dean definitely didn’t care about that and stayed leaned over, one arm on the wall, and his other hand kneading the tense muscles of Cas’ shoulders and neck. At one point, when Castiel thought he was going to choke to death, Dean clapped him on the back hard, and shoved himself into the space beside him, awkwardly half-shoved under the sink. He shoved rough toilet paper into Castiel’s hand and ruffled his hair when he finally wheezed and inhaled a sharp breath.

He helped him stand, and to bed. He pulled the covers over him and spoke to Hannah when she came over at 3 am to ask what the commotion was about. 

The next morning, when every muscle in his torso seized and his stomach still hurt so badly it was hard to stand, Dean helped him to the mess hall.

“I can’t eat this,” Castiel murmured at half-way through breakfast, shoving scrambled egg around on his plate, his stomach turning at the look of slimy, shiny spinach stretching out in between pieces of crumbly pale yellow egg. 

Green eyes quickly darted around, and then once the coast was clear, Dean quickly swapped their plates, putting his nearly-finished one in front of Castiel.

Castiel blinked, looked around in surprise, and then leaned in close to Dean, “Are you insane?”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that today,” Dean murmured. 

“Well,” Castiel shrugged, “you started breakfast by pouring an entire salt shaker in your water and drinking it. I’d say the accusation is worth it… You’re up to something. Is this another protest—”

“You’ll thank me later,” Dean murmured, lowering his fork slowly, his face going pale.

Abruptly, Dean got to his feet and swung his legs over the bench.

“Hey! Winchester, back to your seat!” Rachel barked, stopping her patrol between the tables to watch Dean begin to walk away from his place between Castiel and a boy named Inias. 

When Dean ignored her, and quickened his pace to a jog, Dumah joined in too, following Dean with a hasten step and a raised gun. 

“Stop going wherever you’re going, idiot, or we’ll shoot you where you stan—Oh, ew.”

Dumah visibly shuddered and scowled, lowering her weapon when Dean leaned over the big black trash can by the exit where everyone typically scraped their plates. He clapped a hand to the wall and projectile vomited into the bin, the muscles of his back flexing through his shirt. 

There was a chorus of groans and even Castiel found himself pressing his hand to his mouth, wincing in sympathy, and maybe a bit of empathy-nausea.

With a bored expression on her face, Hannah strolled over to Dean, her hand flopped lazily over her gun which hung from her shoulder. 

“Problem over here, Winchester?” she asked. 

“I dunno what’s wrong—mmmph—” he interrupted himself by releasing another disgusting stream of puke into the bin. With a gasp, he said, “I feel really sick all of a sudden. I dunno what’s wrong.”

Hannah’s light eyes rolled and she sighed, shifting onto her hip. “Do you need to go to the infirmary, Winchester?”

Dean stood, arms around his middle, and nodded after he spit into the bin.

“All right. Let’s go,” she said, grabbing him by the arm and jerking him towards the infirmary.

Inias blinked at Castiel across the space Dean just vacated between them.

“What the hell happened, he was fine?” Inias whispered. “He was all excited talking to me about some walkman he’d fashed into a bong when he was a kid and all of a sudden he’s all sick?” His pinched face pinched even more and Inias asked, eyes darting nervously at Cas. “We all heard you were tossing your cookies last night. Is it contagious?”

Suddenly doubting his allergy to the bulking smoothies, Castiel hesitated, but then said, “No, I’m not… It’s not that kind of sick. I just can’t stomach something in those smoothies.”

Inias shrugged, seeming content with that answer, and tucked back into his food. But Castiel was left feeling something like guilt, wondering if he perhaps really was sick and infectious, and wondering if he’d been the reason Dean was being hauled off the infirmary.

 

After the comfort Dean had been last night, it seemed like a horrible way to pay him back.

***

Dean wasn’t at the dairy farm for their first session of the day at noon, nor was he for the second at four o’clock.

It was probably for the best, because the second session was one of the best and worst so far. 

He was in so much pain by the fifth deposit that he’d thrown up. Terrible in the sense that he’d gotten sick all over himself, and terrible because Abba was so furious that she punched him in the ribs. But it was glorious and one of his proudest moments so far, because he’d gotten Abba right down the front of her shirt with that morning’s breakfast, and damaged the sample she was taking from him. 

Of course, that meant that he got a second punch to the ribs, and everyone was kept late so that Meg could swap in for Abba and take a seventh sample from him to make up for it. But the incident gave Castiel a brief moment of joy as he thought about Dean’s reaction when got around to telling him the story.

Thankfully for Castiel, who felt sick and filthy, everyone had showers scheduled for before bed time. The lineup was long, the water was cold, Dean wasn't anywhere to be found, but showers meant that he got a change of clean clothing, a little bag of travel-sized toiletries, and was given the opportunity to shave. The bathrooms, with the exception of the stalls, were completely open, with the women standing watch against a wall, just out of reach of the spray. He supposed it was supposed to be another exercise in humiliation and dominance, but he couldn’t care less if Dumah saw his ass, the feeling of water against his skin was so good it was almost intoxicating. 

The downside to the cold shower was that his abdomen and stomach still killed from the shivering. On top of the stomach ache and the pain from two sessions at the dairy farm that day, he was ready for sleep by the time he was returned to his cell. 

Dean wasn’t there when he returned, and it worried Castiel. What _happened_ this morning? How sick was Dean that they kept him in the infirmary for almost ten hours?

Exhaustion tugged Castiel to sleep, and Dean followed him from his worried thoughts into his dreams. 

When he was woke up much later, when the cell was cast in darkness, and the only light came from the bathroom and the small, barred cutout in the cell door, Dean was back.

“Hey. Psssst,” Dean hissed, his hand on Castiel’s shoulder, shaking him awake. “That’s enough beauty sleep, sunshine. Wake up.”

Exhausted, groggy and sick, Castiel had trouble opening his eyes. He knew he’d be in a cell, away from home, and not in bed with Dean like he’d been in his dream, warm in sunlight, sleeping in on a Sunday, their legs intertwined—

Whoa.

Castiel opened his eyes abruptly, gasping a bit, and by his head, Dean beamed at him, one side of his face in shadow, the other glowing in dull orange light from the hallway. 

“Wake up, Cas. I brought presents.”

Blearily, Castiel shifted his head on his pillow, mumbling, “It’s not my birthday.”

Dean grinned. “When’s your birthday?” 

“Sept’mber 18th,” Castiel slurred sleepily.

“Well, happy early birthday then. You still feeling sick and achy?”

As he shifted a bit under the covers, he felt like he was ready to puke and felt his muscles screaming as they clenched under his skin. 

“Yes. Best birthday ever,” he replied dryly, waking up a bit.

To his surprise, Dean’s hand came up over the edge of his bed and he rested it on Castiel’s cheek. They stared at each other for a moment. Castiel suddenly felt very, very awake. And if he leaned into the hand a bit, he couldn’t explain why.

“Can I come up there?”

After receiving permission via a sleepy nod, Dean punched the air and moved through the dark room, climbing the ladder and crawling onto Castiel’s bed, apologizing as he stepped on his ankle and kicked him in the leg.

Dean kneeled by Cas’ knees and lifted his shirt. He grinned in the dim light from the corridor and pointed at his abdomen, where he had a blue patch of fabric and a white cord winded around his waist. Castiel spotted a plug for an outlet tucked into the bottom.

“What is that?” Castiel asked, confused.

Dean winked and began unwinding the cord. “This, sunshine, is a heating pad.”

“A heating pad?” Castiel asked, his voice raspier than usual, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“I stole it from the infirmary,” Dean explained, straightening out the cord and leaning over the end of the bed to plug it into an outlet high on the wall, that looked like it might have at one time been for a lamp meant to sit on the desk below. “It took like all day of forcing myself to throw up so that they’d keep me there. I wanted to be out sooner, but they kept a pretty good eye on me. I waited until the guard went for a washroom break, then shoved a finger down my throat and puked all over the nurse. It was like the only time they left me alone, but I managed to grab it from one of their drawers and hide it under the sheets until they let me go. While I was changing, I wrapped it around my waist. They didn’t suspect a thing, the idiots.”

Castiel watched Dean fiddle with a little dial, clicking it to “high”, so that the light went red, then Cas shook his head and asked, perplexed, “You made yourself sick to steal a heating pad?”

“And these,” Dean added, sounding excited despite his hushed tone. He reached into the pockets of his scrubs and held out his palm. Three little orange pills sat snug in the curve of his hand. His green eyes glittered happily in the soft lighting. “They’re antiemetics. You’re gonna have to ignore how, uh, kinda fuzzy they are. I had to put them in my mouth and pretend to swallow them, so they’re all sticky and stuff. But if you take ‘em, they’ll stop you from puking—”

Again, Castiel interrupted Dean. This time he was finally awake and understanding. With his heart pounding, and with his stomach hurting, this time from flapping butterflies, Castiel asked breathlessly, “Dean, did you make yourself sick to get these items for me?”

His chest felt lighter than it had in quite some time when Dean shrugged the tiniest, shyest shrug he’d ever seen from him. 

“Yeah, so?”

Disbelieving, Castiel shook his head slowly, sitting up on his elbow. “Were...Were you not really sick then?”

“Dude,” Dean grinned again, the shyness melting away, leaving a cheeky, fox-like look on his face, “I drank a glass full of salt water before I ate. It makes you hurl, everyone knows that. Jee, didn’t you ever do that as a kid to get out of school?”

“No!” Castiel laughed, the shocked giggling escaping him as joy coursed through him. He was so flattered, so touched, so desperately wanting to reach out and hug Dean.

“Why do I feel like you were a goodie two-shoes in school? Of course you didn’t do that,” Dean chuckled. “I mean, it makes you hurl a few times in a row. It’s all I needed. They took me to the infirmary and did a couple examinations. When time passed and they hadn’t given me any opportunity to grab the stuff, I would just stick my finger in my throat and make it happen again…I’m fucking starved and my stomach kills now but it’ll pass.” He paused to smile, and with a weird look in his eye, Dean murmured, “It was worth it.”

Castiel’s heart did somersaults as Dean lifted the covers and unfolded the heating pad, pressing it to Cas’ stomach, smoothing it out over his abs. The heat, as soon as it pressed against his skin, unfurled in his muscles, sending relaxing waves of warmth through his torso, delivering relief. 

“Dean,” Castiel moaned, wanting to cry from the relief, from the comfort. “You didn’t have to do that for me. I don’t deserve—”

“Shut up, Cas. It’s your birthday.”

Castiel half-moaned, half-laughed as Dean punched him in the shoulder playfully. He retaliated by punching Dean back, getting him in the stomach and whispering through his teeth, “It’s _not_ my birthday, you assbutt—”

“Owww, watch the stomach, Punchy,” Dean groaned, but there was a laugh on his lips. He leaned forward a bit, pressing a hand under his sternum. “The goods are feeling a little bruised.”

Castiel winced. “Are you sure you don’t want this for yourself?” he asked, gesturing to the heating pad.

In a gesture of affection, in a gesture that made Castiel’s heart skip a beat, Dean reached forward and ruffled his hair. It could’ve been interpreted as a brotherly gesture, but the way Dean’s hand dragged down the side of his head, and the way his thumb brushed the shell of his ear, was definitely not brotherly. 

“I got it for you.” Dean opened his other hand and held out a pill. “Now take one of these before we have a repeat of last night. Not that, y’know, I minded. I got to have a cuddle with you, even if you were snotting all over yourself and choking on puke…”

They stared at each other, then broke into chuckles. Castiel felt sick laughing so much but it was such a welcome relief from worry and loneliness. He took the pill Dean offered and swallowed it, wincing as it went down dry and he felt it settle in his esophagus, taking its time making its way down.

“Anyway,” Dean whispered in the darkness, shifting back onto his butt, shuffling towards the ladder, “I hope you feel better. The pill should help you get back to sleep—”

He wasn’t sure what possessed him, but Castiel reached out and took Dean’s hand where it gripped into the covers for balance.

Dean’s head turned quickly and he frowned with confusion. “What is it?”

The words got caught in his throat. Castiel was suddenly overcome with nervousness. He wasn’t a teenager—he understood what was happening here. He just...hadn’t really flirted with anyone or developed feelings for anyone since Daphne, and that had been easy. He knew how to flirt with women. He wasn’t Casanova or anything, and he actually rather awkward, but Daphne had seemed to think he was charming.

Dean seemed to find him charming too, somehow. 

Still, he knew he was developing something for Dean and perhaps that was why the words were getting caught in his throat. What if Dean rejected him? Sure, the man was flirty and he had indirectly admitted to being gay, but what if the flirtation was actually just friendship. A...A bromance.

“Cas, you’re just staring at me and not saying anything, it’s creepy.”

_Use your words, Castiel, you are an adult._

“Stay here with me.” _There we go, those are the words._ “We can bend the heating pad so it works on both of us.”

Dean blinked. “Uh, sure.”

Well, that wasn’t as smooth or romantic as Castiel had meant the moment to be. “Uh, sure” was certainly not the reply he’d envisioned, and he immediately regretted asking, but Dean moved back onto the bed. 

Castiel shifted back so that there was room for Dean to share his space, leaving him the warm indent where his own body had been moments ago. The double bed was cramped for two grown men, but perfect for the purposes of sharing a heating pad. He really could bend it longways so that it was pressing against both of their stomachs. 

That was his plan, but when Dean slid under the covers and shifted close to Castiel, he realised there was another way for them to share the heat.

Dean hesitated, then put his hand on Castiel’s waist. 

They were in darkness now, the light from the hallway and bathrooms blocked by the headboard and endboard of the bed. Castiel could only see Dean’s silhouette, but he saw at his ribcage was rising and falling quickly. 

“Is this okay?” Dean whispered, voice barely louder than a breath.

“This works,” Castiel said, trying to sound neutral. 

The hand tugged on his waist, bringing them closer. Dean’s body heat crowded Castiel’s personal space and he found them chest-to-chest, stomach-to-stomach, legs pressed together. He was very, very away of his cock against Dean’s, soft through the thin scrubs. He was in too much pain to find it physically arousing, but his mind felt like it short-circuited. 

“Good plan, Cas,” Dean murmured. His warm breath, minty with toothpaste, was right there, inches away, puffing against Castiel’s dry lips. 

Initially unsure of where to put his hands, Castiel found himself reaching up and resting his hand on Dean’s shoulder…but no, that as uncomfortable. Not sustainable for sleeping. With a swallow and a rush of bravery, his hand slid down Dean’s shoulder, over his neck and rested on his face, palm pressed against stubble, fingers brushing short, dirty hair.

Dean’s hand on his waist shyly slipped down, smoothing over his back and resting on his spine. The moment was perfect; he was warm, he was already feeling better, though he was exhausted, and _they were cuddling_. He could’ve closed his eyes, and went to sleep, inhaling the soft, warm puff of mint air from Dean. It would’ve been almost romantic.

But Castiel was awkward and he felt the need to impulsively say something, especially when his body thrummed with anxious excitement.

“We’re cuddling,” Castiel whispered. His eyes were wide open in the dark, but he couldn’t see Dean’s face.

“You just _had_ to point that out,” Dean murmured, but even without seeing him, Castiel could hear the smile on his lips. “We’re...enjoying this heating pad together, that’s all. What, you never enjoyed a heating pad in the comfort of your cum-factory prison cell with your ex-girlfriend?”

It was a joke. And if he’d been paying attention, he’d realised that Dean had jokingly called himself Castiel’s boyfriend, but the mention of Daphne made Castiel sour. Also, her new title of ex-girlfriend was somewhat jarring. He bowed his head a bit staring across the room at the barely visible post of Dean’s bed.

“We used to.”

“Wait, really? You actually shared a heating pad like this? I mean, this is jail, Cas, we gotta do what we gotta do, but you know there were other options out there—”

“I mean cuddling, Dean.”

“Oh.”

They went quiet again and this time Castiel didn’t feel like talking anymore, even though he still felt butterflies in his stomach at being in Dean’s arms. He exhaled slowly through his nose, and shut his eyes, willing sleep to come.

But Dean spoke up this time, his voice quiet. “What was her name?”

Her name got caught in Castiel’s throat for a second and all he could remember was—

_“What did you do, Daphne?”_

_“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Cassie—”_

—her betrayal. Yes, they had been drifting for a while. True, they hadn’t had sex in a while, and true, she hadn’t actually told him she loved him for months before the moment where she gave him up. But they had been best friends. They had loved each other in the end, even if they weren’t _in_ love at the time. 

Before, a long time ago, he had been in love with her. And she with him. They’d spent years together. The betrayal stung so sharply that it physically hurt in his chest to say her name.

“Daphne,” Castiel choked out.

The hand on his back swayed a bit, Dean’s thumb caressing the small of his back softly through his t-shirt.

“What was she like?” Dean asked. 

“Smart,” Castiel replied in a breath. “Pretty. She, uh, had been a massage therapist at one point, so that had its perks when I’d had a hard day at work. But she’d quit to take care of her father when he, um, got sick. It left me with all the bills and a gaping hole in her resume...I don’t know what she’ll do now.”

“Who cares? She’s really fucked you over, right?” Dean said rudely, though Castiel knew better than to be offended. He _had_ whipped the ring she’d given him across a room rather dismissively.

“She did,” Castiel whispered. “I kind of hate her for it.”

It was jarring, that revelation. The words had sort of slipped out, comfortable in their shelter here in the dark, in their cell where he wouldn’t be judged. The words were safe in that inch of space that separated their lips.

“I can’t believe I just said that,” Castiel breathed, his breath hitching.

Dean shifted on the pillow in front of him, jaw clenching under Cas’ hand. “Did you mean it?” 

The tears burned in Castiel’s eyes and he had to open and close his mouth a few times. His chest suddenly felt tight, his shoulders holding a weight on them that was crushing. 

“Yes,” he said. “I hate her. I really, really hate her.”

The hand on his back pressed flat against his spine and the covers made a scratchy sound as Dean closed the last inch in between their chests, pressing their torsos flush together. 

There, in the dark, warm, cushiony lips pressed against Castiel’s. 

The touch was brief. Just as quickly as they’d locked lips, pressed gently like the ghost of a caress, they’d moved away. 

They hadn’t moved, or done anything that required exertion, but Dean’s chest was rising and falling quickly, pushing and pulling them together with every breath.

“You kissed me,” Castiel blurted out after a moment of silence. He was staring at Dean in the dark, unable to see him. Still, he knew they were gazing at each other.

Dean came off as very confident in the light, but now, in the dark, his whisper sounded shell-shocked; “I’ll leave your bed if you want me to. I’m...I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Castiel paused, blinking, feeling dizzy from the burst of adrenaline rushing through his arms and legs. His chest was thrumming. With a loud, thick swallow, Castiel admitted, “My heart is beating so fast.”

“Mine too. Feel.” 

Dean’s hand reached up, warm, clammy fingers tugging at Castiel’s wrist, pulled his hand away from his face, and flattened it against his chest.

_Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thumpthumpthump._

They were silent. Castiel replaced his hand on Dean’s face, this time dragging his nails gently over Dean’s hair, twisting little locks through his fingers.

They stayed quiet for a long time. Castiel didn’t think he could sleep, but Dean hadn’t said anything in a while. Minutes passed and he couldn’t stop his heart from pounding. 

Dean’s whisper was quiet, even in the silence, in the dark. “I really like you, Cas.”

“Thank you for getting me medical supplies,” Castiel whispered back, like an idiot.

Dean didn’t reply. He just stayed silent. Even under Castiel’s hand, he felt still. Yet, against his lips, Dean was breathing quick.

Castiel leaned forward and pressed their lips together. 

They didn’t move their heads or worry about bumping noses. There was no tongue or groaning or rutting together. He just…

“Wanted to try it,” he whispered.

He felt the hard swallow under his wrist, and heard Dean’s reflexive, nervous gesture in the silence of the room. 

“How was it?”

Instead of using words that he was no good at, Castiel turned his head, parted his lips, and kissed Dean again.


	8. Sammy

“‘Released’?” Dean sputtered at breakfast, ignoring a glob of oatmeal oozing off the spoon hovering in front of his mouth. “What do you mean ‘he got released’?”

Alfie, who was the new boy who’d been crying beside Castiel during their first day, and was also Inias’ cellmate, nodded enthusiastically.

“He was released,” the twenty-year-old replied back, shoving a heaping spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, lips moving around a grin. “Guards came and gave him his clothes back and told him he was free to go! They gave him his cell phone, and keys, and wallet and stuff.”

“‘Free to go’?” Castiel parrotted flatly, his eyes narrowing. 

He and Dean looked at each other; skeptical, suspicious. They both turned back to look at Alfie, who was wide-eyed and shrugging.

“Guys, I’m not makin’ it up! He’s gone. He was so happy, he was crying while he was getting ready. It was real sweet,” Alfie explained eagerly, swallowing his food and practically wiggling with excitement as he scraped the inside of his bowl for the dregs. “It means it’s true! We _do_ get outta here after enough samples. Gosh, I can’t believe it. We’re getting outta here.”

“Did they say why?” Dean asked bluntly, his eyes wide under furrowed brows. “I...I mean, why him?”

“They said he’d done enough, given good samples. He hadn’t caused any trouble.” Alfie waved his hand vaguely. “Been on his best behaviour.”

Dean scowled at Castiel and plunked his spoon into the grey sludge. “Great, I’m never getting out.”

“What’re the expectations, then?” Castiel persisted, shaking his head. “How many samples is ‘enough’? What quantifies ‘good’?”

Alfie’s hand pressed against his own chest and he scoffed, but he still retained his air of excitement. “I dunno, guys! I’m not the expert here, I was just there when they let him go. They even gave him a bus ticket to get back to his old place. It was real nice.”

A man beside Alfie overheard and began prying too, shifting the boy’s attention. Dean and Cas took that opportunity to turn to each other. 

“I smell bullshit,” Dean whispered, leaning in close to Cas as his eyes swept the room, narrowing a bit as he watched the guards patrolling and leaning up against the walls by the doors.

Castiel swallowed hard and shrugged, following Dean’s gaze. “Maybe. Or maybe we do get out?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Dean growled. “They ain’t told us anything, Cas! Not how long our sentences are, or how they’re determining who gets to stay or go. Nothing.”

“Maybe,” Castiel whispered, sounding unconvinced, “we could ask?”

“Yeah,” Dean rolled his eyes. “‘Cause talking always works with these people. Remember that guy who asked questions in your cohort?”

Recalling Garth’s blood sprayed across the walls and the horrified scream of all the new prisoners, Castiel nodded. “Yes. I remember.”

Dean tore his eyes away from the guards, shaking off his hateful glare, though he looked determined when he leaned in close to Cas and murmured, “I’m gonna get to the bottom of this.”

“How?” Castiel’s brows furrowed and he tilted his head. “Dean… You have that look on your face. What are you planning?”

Rather than denying it or looking ashamed, Dean asked, “You still feeling pukey?”

Castiel frowned and shook his head. “No. Not since they did that allergy test on me and fixed the formula. Why?”

“Well,” Dean muttered out of the side of his mouth, “there goes my distraction.”

“Wha—”

Shaking his head, Dean nudged Castiel with his shoulder. “When I was being carted off to the infirmary last week, I heard a phone ring, Cas.”

While Dean was ridiculously attractive when he was all scheming and plotty, with his fox-like grin and twinkling eyes, Castiel’s heart sunk.

“Dean, if you’re caught,” he whispered worriedly, “you’ll be killed.”

“It was right in the infirmary, Cas! Just like, in the nurse’s office! _Right there._ ” Dean’s arm was hot against Castiel’s, and his expression pointed. “If we could get to the infirmary and if you could cause a distraction, I could totally sneak in, make a quick call, and then… Well, I haven’t figured that part out yet, but I will!”

Castiel’s eyes were a bit wide, and he licked his lips nervously. Dean was the reckless one. Castiel had always been quiet, smart, strategic. He liked to think about every move he made, it was how he’d made his way up the chain of command at work. 

Dean’s wacky plots usually went sour. Still, a plan was better than no plan. 

“You’re insane,” Castiel said abruptly. The sad thing was, he was in. He was so in. Dean was looking at him with excitement, green eyes glittering and bright, and it made Castiel’s rational thinking abilities fizzle and disappear with a pop. He swallowed and raised a hand to his mouth, rubbing his cracked lips with his palm. Looking past Dean at the guards, he asked hoarsely, “What would you have me do?”

Dean punched the air in front of him, though he made sure the gesture was muted so he didn’t draw attention to himself. He turned to Cas again, shuffling closer. Their legs pressed together under the table. 

“You a good actor?”

Castiel shrugged. “I guess so. I played an angel for the nativity play in grade school.”

“Well, that’s not acting,” Dean murmured, knocking Cas with his shoulder and winking, “you’re already an angel.”

“Is the gross flirting required for our plan?” Castiel asked, but his mouth was a filthy traitor and he grinned, his cheeks getting a little warm.

“Absolutely,” Dean teased. “Now, listen up, I got a bigger role for you than Clarence the angel. You’re gonna be a star, sunshine.”

***

“HANNAH!”

Hannah was the least likely of all the guards to shoot them in the face. Hannah was a bitch, but she wasn’t trigger happy like the rest of the guards. So when Castiel and Dean decided to carry out their plan, it was when Hannah patrolled their corridor at light’s out.

“ _HANNAH!”_ Dean yelled in a panic through the small rectangular cutout in the door. He banged on it when she took her time strolling over.

Hannah’s peeved face showed up on the other side of the door, her blue eyes narrowed. 

“What, Winchester?” she asked, managing to sound bored and annoyed all at once.

“I-I don’t know,” Dean said, his eyes wide, his face pale. “It’s Castiel. He’s freaking out!”

“‘Freaking out’?” she asked slowly, tilting her chin, staring at him in disbelief. “Cut the shit, Winchester. Go to sleep.”

As she turned away, Dean banged on the door and stepped closer to it. “Please, Hannah,” he pleaded. “I don’t know what to do.”

Hannah rolled her eyes and raised her gun, jerking her head at him. “All right. Move, I’m coming in. But if you try any funny business, I’ll explode one of your kneecaps.”

“Scouts honour,” Dean said, well aware he’d never been a boy scout in his life. He backed away from the door, leaning his back against the ladder of his bunk as Hannah let herself in and lowered her weapon, looking around.

Once she was in, she immediately spotted Castiel, huddled behind his bunk, hidden in its shadow, shaking and gripping his chest. He looked sweaty.

Well, it was the best they could do when all they had at their disposal was water from the sink in the bathroom and Castiel’s acting chops.

“Something’s wrong,” Castiel wheezed, his fingers digging into his shirt, his eyes wide and wet. “I think I’m dying.”

Hannah just groaned and stuck out her hip. “Just go to sleep, you two.”

Castiel burst into tears, and Dean was momentarily super impressed. He was really selling this freakout.

“Please, H-Hannah,” Castiel wept. “My heart is beating so f-fast, something is wrong. I feel sick, I-I think I’m having a heart attack. I don’t want to d-die here, oh God.”

The rest of what he had to say dissolved into blubbering and hyperventilating, his chest heaving and his hands clawing at his chest. 

_Nailed it, sunshine,_ Dean thought triumphantly when Hannah sighed and moved her weapon out of her way, sliding it around to settle on her back. She bent over and grabbed Cas by his arm, trying to haul him up.

She was well trained and pretty strong, but Cas suddenly freaked out, yanking his arm away and stumbling back against a wall. 

“Nononono,” he sobbed, shaking his head, droplets of water running down from his hair, dripping down onto his shirt, disappearing in the dark material. “Where are you gonna take me? P-Please don’t punish me, I didn’t d-do anything—”

Hannah made to grab him again, growling in frustration, “Knock it off, Grace! We’re just going to the infirmary—”

She fought with Cas, who was digging his feet into the ground, trying to clamour back into the cell. He managed to get away, turning to run to the bathroom, but Dean jumped out and grabbed him by his middle, hauling him back towards Hannah.

“Cas, breathe, _breathe_ —” he coached gently, trying to speak over Cas’ panicked wheezes. “—Hannah’s just going to take you to get something to calm d—”

Cas grasped at him, sobbing, his shiny face twisted in terror, his eyes wide. “I’m gonna die here. I’m gonna die in this fucking place and, oh God. Oh, God. Please don’t let her take me, she’ll take me to t-that hallway where they killed G-Garth and execute me like a dog!” He clung so hard to Dean that Dean’s t-shirt made a ripping sound. He fought back even as Dean and Hannah tried to drag him out of the room. “Dean, _Dean._ I’m having a heart attack, I just know it—”

Hannah, with Dean’s help, yanked Cas out into the hallway and she no longer tried to restrain her annoyance. With a forceful shove, she pushed Castiel into Dean’s arms and jerked her head down towards the end of the cell block. 

“You fuckin’ take him, Winchester,” she snarled. “This is the fourth panic attack on this floor in a week. I’m tired of it.”

Bingo.

Looks like all of Alfie’s crying and meltdowns had worked in their favour to weedle Hannah’s patience down to almost nothing. 

When they reached the infirmary, Dumah was patrolling from the other end. As soon as she saw Dean and a shaking, frightened-looking Castiel, the guard groaned.

“Are they puking _again_?”

“No,” Hannah grumbled, pushing open the door to the infirmary and jerking her head to indicate to Dean that he could enter. “Not this time, thank God.”

“First time for everything, I guess,” Dumah sneered meanly, her eyes narrowing at boys, eyes lingering on Cas, who was panting and had his forehead in his hand, eyes squeezed shut. “What’s up with Grace?”

“In desperate need of a sedative, apparently,” Hannah muttered, nodding her head again to Dean. “Get him in there, hurry up.”

Dean dragged Cas in, winking at him as soon as they had their backs to the guards. Behind him, he heard Hannah ask, “You mind watching the door? I’m gonna leave Winchester in the waiting area. You know he gets flighty.”

“Of course. I’ll be out here,” Dumah replied.

A nurse peeked his head around the corner of a foggy glass partition between the waiting room and a room that contained several curtained beds. Dean was all too familiar with one of those beds, where he’d spent his day making himself puke...and kinda genuinely sick, as the salt water he’d swallowed made him toss his cookies more than a couple times all over the sheets.

The nurse groaned and rolled his eyes. “Oh, not Grace again.”

Dean turned to Cas and gripped his wet face, which was actually sweaty now, from the hyperventilating and fighting tooth-and-nail to get away from Hannah. 

“Hey, buddy,” he said, giving his cheek a little tap. “I’ll be right here. Let Hannah and the nurse check you over, okay? They’ll give you something to feel better—” 

“Please don’t leave,” Castiel begged, eyes stupidly bright and wet. It seemed hideously unfair how pretty the man was, even as he fake-freaked out and cried. “Stay here.”

“I’ll be right here, man. Just on this side of the wall. I’ll come when you call,” Dean reassured.

Cas nodded and Hannah swept forward, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him to where the nurse was. She looked over her shoulder and snapped, “You sit in that chair by the door and you don’t get up until I come back. Am I being clear, Winchester?”

“Crystal,” Dean replied, nodding obediently, sitting on the chair between the entrance and the nurseʼs office. He even put on a worried face and asked, “Please don’t hurt him, he’s just having a panic attack, okay? Everything happening here caught up with him and he hasn’t been sleeping. Just...treat him like a human, okay?”

Hannah shot him a strange look but then disappeared with Cas and the nurse behind a curtain. He heard Cas start sobbing again, his inhales sounding like desperate wheezes and stuttered hiccups. He started blubbering something about a heart attack again, claiming to feel dizzy and numbness. The nurse hissed something to Hannah about keeping him still if he was going to get an examination.

The second he was sure they’d be occupied for more than a few minutes, Dean jumped out of his chair and stood in front of the nurse’s office, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He shut his eyes, desperately hoped the door was unlocked, and then he wrapped his fingers around it. Silently as he could, he turned the knob painstakingly slowly, his heart pounding. 

He pushed at the door with his hand.

The door opened easily and Dean almost cried out in relief. There, beside a computer screen that was on sleep mode, the screensaver rotating pictures of the nurse’s friends and family, was the phone. A little red light flashed at the top, indicating that an unchecked voicemail was waiting.

Dean grabbed the phone with a shaking hand, looking through the window in the door, keeping an eye out for retreating figures, or worse, trigger-happy Dumah coming in to check on him. 

Dean was so nervous he had tears in his eyes. He punched in Sam’s number and clung to the receiver with both hands, his body shaking with adrenaline, fear, and excitement. 

It was ringing. It was fucking ringing.

“Hello?”

Dean pressed a hand to his mouth for a second, feeling a sob bubbling up. But he choked it down and lowered his hand, whispering, “Sam, it’s me. It’s Dean.”

Sam’s relief and terror rung out clear as day over the phone, evident in every intonation of his voice. “Dean!? Oh, my God. Dean, we’ve all been worried sick about you. I’ve been trying to reach Irv, and Kevin, and even Benny, but nothing. No one picks up their phones. Where the hell are you?”

“Sam, you gotta stop this,” Dean said in a rush. He’d planned out everything he’d wanted to say to Sam, but now he could hardly think straight enough to get his words in order. “I-I don’t have a lot of time. If they find me on the phone they’ll kill me—”

“Who? Dean, who is—”

“The government, Sam,” Dean whispered fiercely, looking over his shoulder again. “They’ve got us locked up at some place they call The Facility. They pretended it was a jail, but it’s not, Sam. It’s not a jail, not in the traditional way. They’ve got us in cells, putting all kinda weird mad-scientist concoctions in our bodies, and they’re fucking lining us up and chaining us to the ceiling—”

“ _What?”_

Dean inhaled a shaking breath. “Listen to me. I know I sound crazy. They’re...They’re fuckin’...Sam, they’re, like, milking us for sperm and sending it—”

“—across the border,” Sam finished. Dean went dead silent, wondering how the hell his brother knew, but Sam explained quickly, “You don’t sound crazy, Dean. I’ve been hearing rumors on the dark web about what’s happening. We got a guy who works for us who is a master hacker and he finds out all kinds of information deep, deep on the internet. There are rumors online about dozens of these sperm farms all over the state but most people thought it was bullshit. Mainstream media has _no_ idea. It’s not even on their radar. They’re all reporting that South Dakota is on lockdown and there’s some kind of communication freeze. No one has heard from anyone inside SD. Dean, are you okay?”

Dean’s chin trembled. He tried to sound unaffected, but when his voice came out tight, he didn’t fight the one tear that streamed down his face. “It’s where they sent the unwanted fertile men. T-They say we’re all criminals, or cowards who hid from the testing—”

“Mandatory sperm analysis,” Sam said like a revelation. “Yeah, they briefly discussed it on the news, said that’s all we really knew was happening there. They didn’t say what happened if your results were good or bad…”

“Good; you either got ripped from your family and sent to live with some rich, wealthy woman who you’d have to knock up a minimum of two times, or you ended up here. Fed and milked like a cow… Though even cows get treated better than we do,” Dean replied bitterly. “And if the results were bad? Well, you’d end up like Benny. They cuffed him and a bunch of other guys, and were forcing them onto a black bus, last I saw him. Shipping ‘em off to the farms to produce food for SD.”

“Farms?” Sam repeated, thoroughly confused. “Farms for what?”

“They didn’t know how long we’d be under quarantine,” Dean explained, worry gnawing at his stomach as time was passing too quickly. “So the government cut off all imports. All food would have to be grown and raised here.” 

“What the fuck, Dean?” Sam choked out. “God, what the fuck?”

“We’re being tortured, Sam. Threatened with automated rifles, beat, put in solitary confinement where they never turn off the lights and there’s no real place to sleep.” He sniffled, his voice wavering. “They blasted some guy in the chest with a rifle because he asked too many questions. Cas told me about it.”

“Dean, we’ll get you out of there. Where are you? Do you know?”

“No idea,” Dean whispered, staring around the office, trying to find a business card or a letter, but the fucking nurse’ desk was pristine. He looked around and saw boxes and binders, but nothing with so much as a logo on them. “I-I have to look. Sammy, I have no idea, but I need help.”

“I-I coulda traced your call if you’d called within office hours. Ash, our cybersecurity expert, that hacker, he coulda done it. Fuck, Dean… Dean, do you have access to a phone?”

“No,” Dean breathed, his teeth chattering as nerves shook him. “No, I had to pull a stunt with Cas to—”

“Cas? Who’s Cas?”

“—to even call you now. I don’t know when I’ll be at a phone again. Sam, we were supposed to have a phone call but they won’t give it to us now. They give us some bullshit about the lines being down.”

“I’m certain outgoing calls are working, Dean. Maybe not for civilians, but certain for governments. And if you’re in a government facility—”

“I know,” Dean said quickly, watching the shadows move behind the foggy glass partition. “Listen, I don’t have time. There was a guy who was released from here early this morning. His name is Inias Milton. If your hacker buddy could’ve traced my call from here, d’you think he could track Inias down?”

“We’re gonna try. Inias Milton.” A pen could be heard scratching on paper. Dean could practically imagine Sam leaned over his kitchen counter, scribbling this on a sticky note. “Dean, just hang on. We’re gonna track down this Inias guy. We’ll find out where he was released from, and I’m gonna find a way to get you out—” 

“And Cas,” Dean added quickly. “My friend Castiel Grace. You gotta get him out too, if you can only do that for now. But everyone here needs saving—fuck, fuck fuck.”

He saw the shadows become more still, more relaxed. That meant Cas was sedated.

“I gotta go, Sam. I’ll find a way to call you again soon, but during office hours so your guy can trace the call. Get us out of here.”

He didn’t even wait for Sam to say anything before he hung up, and snuck back out into the waiting room.

He wondered if he looked as sweaty and nervous as he felt, his shaking hands shoved in between his legs, when Hannah came out with Cas.

Cas waved, his lips spread into a grin. “Hello, Dean.”

“Take your friend,” Hannah muttered. “He’s sedated.”

“Sedated” was definitely right. With all the lines smoothed out, all tension gone from Cas’ face, he looked about ten years younger, and more relaxed than Dean had ever seen him. With a pang in his heart, Dean wondered if Cas normally looked like this, when he didn’t have exhaustion, pain, fear, and depression weighing him down or pulling his face into a tight scowl. 

“Are you high?” Dean asked, when he took Cas from Hannah, draping his arm over his shoulders and winding his own arm around Cas’ waist.

“Noooo,” Cas said, pouting his mouth into a little “o”. He shook his head. “Jus’ relaxed.”

Dean yelped a bit when Cas’ knees abruptly decided not to work and they both nearly crumpled to the floor, though Dean caught him before he got to that point. 

“Yeah, buddy,” Dean groaned, hoisting Cas up into his arms, bridal-style. “You seem real relaxed.”

The attending nurse rolled his eyes and leaned against the end of the glass partition. “I might have given him some barbiturates. He’ll be loopy for a bit, but he’ll just likely sleep.”

“Did you give him _all_ the barbiturates?” Dean growled through his teeth when Cas’ head lolled onto his shoulder. “The dude is a sack of potatoes.”

All he got in return from the nurse was a loftily hand wave and a bored departure. Unkindly, he said over his shoulder, “Be happy it wasn’t actually a heart attack or you’d be carrying him to the morgue.”

Hannah turned to Dean and pointed at the door.

The entire way back to their cell, Dean replayed his conversation with Sam. And his hands shook, not just because Cas was heavy as fuck and completely limp, but because Dean couldn’t believe they’d pulled it off. They’d actually done it. Cas would be thrilled when he woke up from his coma.

Sam knew. 

Sam knew, and Sam was going to save them. He was going to save them all. He was going to save Cas.


	9. Magic Healing Penis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: NOT-SAFE-FOR-WORK SMUTTY ART IN THIS CHAPTER. (NSFW ART WARNING)

The day after the stunt they pulled was rough.

Well, rough for Cas, amusing for Dean.

After being able to talk to Sam and not being caught, Dean had been euphoric. It was a shame that Cas was passed out all night, because all Dean wanted to do was tell Cas about the conversation with Sam. Dean stayed up all night thinking about what to ask Sam to do next, and began plotting ways to escape.

When morning came, Castiel struggled to wake up. Dean had to climb up onto the bed and help Cas sit up by propping him up against the wall. The blue-eyed man stared around blearily around the room, looking like shit, his hair sticking up in all kinds of weird angles.

He nodded dumbly while Dean prattled away in a whisper, recapping his entire conversation with Sam. Cas woke up slowly, blinking at Dean, occasionally saying “mhmmn” and “yeah”.

“That is great news,” Castiel murmured, once Dean wrapped up. “Once your brother tracks down Inias, perhaps we can find out where we are.”

“He’ll do something, Cas,” Dean said. “He’ll shut this place down. I don’t know how, I know he’s just one guy, but he has connections. I really believe he’ll make it happen.”

“I hope so,” Castiel murmured, rubbing at his face, his gestures slow and fatigued. “I don’t know how much longer I can take this place.”

Castiel dragged his legs up slowly, groaning, resting his elbows on his knees and running his fingers through his hair.

Dean grinned and scooted his butt on the bed, turning himself so that he was sitting beside Cas, their bodies pressed together tightly, knees knocking together. After nudging him a bit, Dean said, “You were really impressive yesterday, Cas. You an actor in another life?”

Castiel groaned. “I’m pleased you liked my unfettered panic attack. I did my best. Based it off of the several heart attacks I thought I had in university that just turned out to be panic attacks about my dead parents potentially not being proud of me for getting just a B+ in Accounting 101.”

“Aww,” Dean chuckled, reaching up to ruffle the hair at the crown of Cas’ head, making the wild, piecey hairstyle even more of a mess.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” Castiel murmured, exhaling slowly through a small hole made by his pursed lips. “I’m unsure of what they stuck me with, but almost immediately after they injected me, my body turned to mush and I felt like nothing mattered. Now I’m dizzy and exhausted.”

“Barbiturates will do that, I guess,” Dean replied, tucking strands of short brown hair behind Cas’ ear. “I had to carry you all the way here. You’re pretty heavy for a skinny dude.”

Cas ignored him, shaking his head in his palm, his eyes squeezed shut. “In college, I let my friend Uriel convince me to go to a party. I never really did that sort of thing and I didn’t really drink, but anyway...Uriel lined up a row of about twenty tequila shots on a table and stood on the other end of it, challenging me to a race,” Castiel’s lips twisted in disgust. “I recall a tie at ten shots each, but that is the only detail I remember. Needless to say, that hangover was the worst I’ve had in my life, until now. This is worse. This is torture.”

Dean smiled, even though Cas couldn’t see it. Regardless, he leaned to the side and pressed his lips to Cas’ shoulder, swiping his nose over the smooth skin there.

“Thank you for doing what you did, though, Cas. I know it feels shitty now, but you really helped me and we ended up pulling it off.” Dean paused, then added, “If it makes you feel any better, you make a really cute hungover person. One day, when we get out of here, I’d like to get you properly hung over. The kind of hungover where we just hang out in bed all day, order in crappy food, and nap.”

Cas turned his head to look at Dean, their faces an inch apart. “Is this a flirtation?”

Dean grinned, “Hell yes.”

Cas groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Are you asking me out on a date when I look like this and have terrible morning breath?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad, but you’re a pretty good looking dude, even recovering from hardcore drug hangover. So, like, that means I’ll survive if you leaned in and kissed me right now, and then agreed to that date, ‘cause Sam’s gonna get us out, and hopefully get us out of SD. If he takes us back to Cali with him, you bet your ass I’m driving to the coast and planting my ass on a beach with hawaiian shirt and a fancy drink—the kind with the paper umbrella. And I was kinda hoping you’d join me.”

A shy little smile curled on Cas’ lips, his tired blue eyes widening happily for a moment. They hadn’t kissed since that moment in the dark last week. Thankfully, Cas appeared to definitely be a little gay, which was a win for Dean. He’d been worried Cas was just a really touchy guy and he’d been reading the signs wrong, but after their kisses the other night, Cas definitely enjoyed some stubble-on-stubble action. The kiss Cas had initiated had been so casual, so gently and lofty, that Dean felt a little drunk on it, his mind having had wandered during it, imagining those lips dragging over other parts of his body too—

Cas leaned over a bit and kissed Dean on the cheek, pausing afterwards to nuzzle their faces a bit.

“I’ll get drunk with you on a beach in California, Dean,” Castiel whispered. Louder, he added, “Just ensure that no tequila comes near me, nor barbiturates, and ensure that I don’t fall asleep on the beach with my hand on my stomach. I learned that the hard way a few summers ago and I’d rather not have a repeat occasion.”

“Are those your only requests for our date?” Dean asked with a chuckle.

Castiel looked thoughtful. “I’d like a burger. I miss eating burgers. Actually, I miss greasy food. I never used to make poor eating decisions before, but after eating chia and flaxseed, and chicken and broccoli for weeks now, all I want is a Big Mac.”

Dean slid his arm around Cas, meaning to tug him just a little bit closer to give his shoulders an affectionate squeeze, but Cas leaned over, curling over into Dean’s lap like a hungover puddle of warm, hot human.

Cas wrapped his arms around Dean’s legs. Dean grinned and curled forward, hugging Cas’ top half tightly, kissing the side of his head. When Cas moaned happily, Dean felt the rumble in his chest, and wondered if Cas knew how badly Dean had it for him. His heart beat quickly.

“Deal,” Dean said into his hair. “Beaches, manly-umbrella cocktails, non-awkward tans, no tequila, no outdated sedatives, and lots of all-you-can-eat McDonalds. Got it. Damn, I’m pretty excited for our date now. Sam better hurry his ass up.”

Cas’ voice was muffled due to half of his face being squished against Dean’s leg. “I’ve never been on a date with a man before.”

Dean curled forward more, holding Cas closer to his chest. With a small smirk on his lips, he muttered, “It’s a lot like going on a date with a woman, but there’s generally less lipstick and sex on the first date is highly encouraged.”

“Is that a general rule?”

“Well, no, you can wear lipstick if you want.”

“ _Dean._ ”

“HEY!” Hannah barked, causing both men to jump as she clanged her batton against the heavy metal door to their cell. “What the hell are you two doing in there?”

She peered a them through the tiny grate, eyes narrowing. “I can see you two huddling together up on that bed. If I recall, I did warn you that—”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Chill, Hannah. We weren’t ‘wasting the product’, Cas is just all fucked up from whatever you psychos shot him up with yesterday. I was just keeping him company.”

Hannah’s eyes rolled. “Cuddling and Grace’s head in your lap is not a requirement of companionship. Break it up, idiots, before I call Naomi over here to assign you to separate cells.”

That had the boys break up rather quickly, shuffling away from each other, leaving a foot of space between their shoulders.

It seemed, in a place that had accustomed them and numbed them to the regular fears—pain, humiliation, death—the real fear that had developed in them was being separated from each other.

“We’re sorry,” Castiel said quickly, his cracked, dry lips pressed into a hard line, his blue eyes looking bright and wide with anxiety. “We’re very sorry, Hannah.”

“Yeah.” Dean found himself saying, though it pained him to apologize to any of those goons. “Sorry, Hannah.”

“That’s what I thought,” she groused.

When she disappeared, resuming her patrol, the two men automatically reached for each other, hands sliding across the mattress and meeting in the middle, fingers linked.

They stared at each other.

Castiel, shut his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.

“Your brother had better hurry,” he whispered.

Dean watched Cas’ drained face and he squeezed his hand back, desperately thinking the same thing.

If they separated him and Cas, he didn’t know how long he would last.

***

The rest of that day had been rough. Castiel had started to feel better, but that had been put to an abrupt, rude stop after the first session of the day. His body, hungover, fatigued, seemed to be extra offended by the millkers’ touches. Abba was gone—quit, fed up, according to Meg, and they had a new woman in who seemed clumsy and unsure of herself. Clearly she’d never touched a penis ever and it had resulted in the worst handjob of all time. Castiel had gotten some dry, uncomfortable handjobs back in college from his first girlfriend, April, but this girl, Ruby, seemed perplexed at her own life choices.

She was so terrible at it, that even with the super-Viagra they gave him, he could not come. Meg had to take over, while the other men were being let down, already done their six samples while Castiel had hardly done one.

Dean looked back at Castiel, looking worried, but he had to turn around as Dumah shoved him into the hallway. She disappeared with the four other men to wait in the hallway.

“Fuckin’ useless,” Meg muttered to herself, sliding her hands together, lubing them up. “Where are they getting these fucking girls? First Abba, who thought she was too good for this, and now Ruby, who gives a handy like she’s trying to get ketchup outta the bottom of the bottle.” Her dark eyes flickered up to Castiel’s wet blue ones and she winked. He wished she would just get on with it and shut the hell up, but she was actually skilled with her hands and for some reason, she was always much nicer to him than the other milkers.

“Make it up to you,” she murmured. “I used to have a client that you remind me of. His name was Jimmy. Sold ad-time for radio, and had a family, though his wife was kinda a bitch.”

The slick sounds if her hands across his dick were loud in the room when it was just them. She may be weirdly nice to him, and her hands felt heavenly in comparison to the dry tugging he’d just gotten from Ruby, but he just wanted her to hurry up so he could crawl into bed with the heating pad and sleep.

“He was real nice to me,” she said, eyes flickering up and scanning his face. Her hands, gentle and slippery, massaged his cock. “Always said please and thank you, always paid me when he was supposed to. He smiled a lot and never really treated me like shit because I was—”

“A prostitute,” Castiel rasped. He’d never really spoken during the sessions, not after that first one. He wasn’t supposed to, but Meg didn’t seem like she’d fight him about it.

She didn’t. She smirked at him and nodded. “Yeah. When they were recruiting for this place, they hit up all our spots, called all our ads. For a while there, for the first week, almost all of us were sex workers. Then a bunch started quitting. Some feel bad, y’know? About what they make you guys do. But I mean,” she shrugged, watching her own hands as one languidly stroked Cas’ shaft while the other hand twisted and curled around his head, a thumb sweeping under the sensitive cleft under the tip, “it has benefits! And for the first time ever, I have a pension. And like, I can’t complain about the pay.”

“You treat Dean very poorly,” Castiel choked out, feeling his orgasm building. He grunted a bit and shuddered.

Meg snorted. “He spit on me every session for the first three days he was here. Landed him in solitary, though, so I at least got a good laugh. He’s trouble. You’d do best to just stay away from him.”

Casually, she reached over and grabbed a sample cup, holding it in place as he came, finally. Relief and pleasure coursed through him, joined with the usual shame and embarrassment.

When the wave was over, Meg actually gave him a second to recover. That kind of thing was unheard of in this place, and Castiel wondered if she could get in trouble for not treating him like livestock.

“You good to go?” she asked after a minute, when his hips stopped jerking a bit and he rested his face on his arm.

_Never,_ he wanted to say, but instead, he just nodded tiredly. Her hands were on him again in a second, and to his surprise, she slid her palm along the underside of his cock and cradled his testicles, massaging them gently.

“I-I’m sorry Dean did that,” Castiel whispered roughly, breathing carefully as her ministrations had him rushing close to orgasm again.

Meg shrugged, jerking him off, her hands were still skillful and stroking him at the right tempo. She seemed to actually be enjoying giving him pleasure. “Just rubbed me the wrong way.” She paused to smirk, chuckling to herself. “Pun intended.”

She delivered the rest of Castiel’s deposits quickly. She used lots of lube, rubbed artfully, and when Castiel left, he definitely still felt exhausted and his abdomen and legs were cramped, but the raw, sharp feeling on his cock wasn’t as bad a usual. It was a shame Dean was so terrible to Meg, because he definitely could have been having less of a bad time every session with her on his side.

Still, he felt rough when he returned to the cell with Dean. He felt simultaneously relieved that he didn’t feel as terrible as usual from the deposits, but strangely more ashamed than usual. Truth was, he had kind of enjoyed the beginning. Anxiety curled in his stomach, feeling like he’d betrayed something within himself. Something felt twisted and wrong about enjoying it, and he suddenly wished dearly that Meg wasn’t going to touch him again in the evening session.

He had enjoyed the abuse for a moment and felt sick about it.

While they were too frightened of being separated to openly cuddle in Castiel’s bed as usual, Dean did sit with him, rubbing his back with one hand as Castiel tried to fall asleep, curled around the heating pad. Dean sat by his knees and used his other hand to prop up a novel, only moving his hand away from Castiel’s back to turn a page.

By the time dinner rolled around, after a two hour nap, Castiel felt significantly better. With more food in his stomach and the rest, he could actually walk somewhat comfortably and didn’t feel ruined from the drug hangover anymore.

Still, he dreaded the second session, hoping he’d get someone boring and clinical, someone who didn’t like him somewhat, someone who didn’t enjoy giving him an orgasm. Knowing the interaction gave Meg some kind of pleasure or comfort was actually disturbing. It felt more rapey than usual. When the milker looked bored, like this was a medical procedure, it felt less traumatic.

Of course, luck wasn’t something that existed in The Facility, and definitely not in the Dairy Farm.

“Meg, you good to do Winchester _and_ Grace again this session?” Dumah asked as they were restraining the men during the second deposit session of the day. “They transferred Ruby to administration.”

“Those awkward hands belong in a office, punching in numbers at a photocopier for the rest of her life, so good riddance. No wonder she’s single,” Meg snorted to herself as she snapped restraints around Dean’s ankles.

“Right, well. We have a replacement coming in tomorrow. Some new girl,” Dumah said, moving her gun aside for a moment to help, clicking in the cuffs around Castiel’s arms, giving them a painful tug. “Hopefully she won’t be as flakey as Ruby.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dumah as she smirked at him and kneeled down to secure his ankles, making sure to “accidentally” knock the metal against his ankle bone painfully. Once Dumah walked away to lean against the far wall, and everyone got started, Castiel actually wished he was getting started with them. The wait, just knowing that Meg was going to move onto him next, to be alone with him in this room, made his stomach turn.

After half an hour, they others were done. Dean looked especially rough, actually moaning when he got down from the restraints. He usually never made any noise, not wanting the milkers to have the satisfaction. But Meg had been particular rough with him this time. Castiel noticed she hadn’t used as much lube as she’d used on him, nor as soft a touch or intricate movements. Castiel thought, perhaps, that their conversation earlier had re-ignited her disdain for Dean.

Regardless for how she felt about Dean, once everyone filed out, including the other milkers with their trays and samples, and Dumah, Meg slid her stool over to him and smiled a bit. He wished she wouldn’t smile, or look at him at all, or put so much lube on her hands because she wanted it to be less painful for him. Castiel felt dread fill his stomach, watching her rub her gloved hands together and get to work.

Three samples in, he was actually lulled into a sense of security. She hadn’t made small talk or told him anymore stories about her john Jimmy who used to look like him. She did stroke him with finesse, but he supposed he could excuse that. He rationalized to himself that this had been her job; she was just good at it, she wasn’t doing it for him.

But then, as his fourth orgasm shuddered in his belly, contracting the muscles of his legs, and rumbled up through his shaft, she whispered, “This is when it gets painful for you guys, huh?”

His hiss of pain and gritted teeth as he came was indication enough. His fingers clenched into fists above his head. When he opened his eyes a minute later, she was watching him.

“Yes,” he ground through his teeth, voice rough and pained. His abdomen squeezed in response, sending a burn through his muscles that was almost unbearable.

She returned her hands to him, the room filled with slick sounds. She turned her hands in opposite directions as she slid them up and down his cock.

He just wanted this to be over.

He slid his eyes closed and went limp, his wrists aching in the restraints. He felt his fifth orgasm growing, his aching balls tightening up, close to his body.

A hot mouth went around the tip of his cock and slid down the shaft. Castiel’s eyes snapped open and he jerked his hips back, away from the tight throat that had flexed around him.

“What the f—”

Meg popped off his dick, her cheeks unhollowing and her mouth, now slick with lube, twitched up into a smile. “Quiet, Grace. Let me make this good for you.”

She didn’t wait to take him into her mouth again, her head bobbing, her hands pumping the base of his cock.

Castiel trembled in the restraints and for the smallest moment in time, he almost enjoyed it, but then he felt disgust turn his stomach. He genuinely felt ill, he felt violated, worse than on the first day he’d been here, when he’d truly, truly not understood what was happening to him.

“Stop it,” he hissed, jerking his hips away. “Stop, I don’t want you to! I don’t like it—”

Meg replaced her hands where he mouth used to be and she ducked her head forward, wiping her lips on the arm of her lab coat. She glared at him. “What’s your problem, Grace? Just enjoy it.”

“Stop,” he choked out, hating himself, hating his stupid dick that wouldn’t go down, hating everything about this fucking place all over again. He felt his stomach turn, remember the brief moment where he’d enjoyed the feeling. He felt like he’d…

Like he’d betrayed Dean.

“Donʼt fucking touch me. I want someone else,” he whispered.

Meg rolled her eyes. She instantly looked like herself, like the version that jerked on Dean with disdain, not the sweet Meg that had stroked at him in good faith this morning. “Good luck getting someone else,” she sneered. “I’ll just tell them you tried to hurt me.”

“With what?” Castiel spat. “My penis in your throat? Did I knock a tonsil too hard when I was resisting?”

“Fuck you,” Meg snapped. She wiped off her hands on coat, commenting bitterly, “Guess I’m not your type, huh? Missing some freckles and a cock, I guess. Right, Grace?”

“I’ll scream if you do that again,” Castiel whispered hotly.

Meg’s brows shot up and she whispered back, “And I’ll scream if you don’t let me—”

“Just do your job, Meg,” Castiel whispered, his voice softening. He realised, if he pissed her off, if she really did scream, she could say anything. She could make anything up. She could have him put it solitary. She could have him killed.

She could have him and Dean separated.

“Meg, listen. You finally have a pension, benefits, and a good salary, remember?” Castiel said quietly, meeting her eye. “Don’t throw that away. I’m not Jimmy. I can’t replace him. You and I are strangers. Please, Meg.”

_He always said please and thank you._

Meg lowered her eyes and went quiet. She stared somewhere at his kneecap, then turned to her station again and squeezed out a shy amount of lube onto her hand.

Silently, she went back to work.

“Thank you,” Castiel murmured. She didn’t reply as she stroked him in uniform strokes, her pressure not too hard, but not gentle either, not anymore.

She took her last two samples from him.

When the samples were capped, organized, and labelled, she undid his restraints without preamble and escorted him from the room without another word.

Dean, who was leaning against the wall with the others and Dumah, fell in line with Cas when they all pushed off that wall and began their departure.

“What the hell happened?” Dean whispered. “Meg looked pissed.”

His stomach was sick from what just happened to him. Castiel didn’t answer, not confident he wouldn’t lose his lunch. Instead, he just smiled tightly at Dean and turned away, staring ahead of him as they were led to the showers.

During the showers, Castiel didn’t look at Dean once, though he felt him watching. He could see the concerned face on him in his peripherals, but Castiel kept his face towards the shower head, scrubbing at his skin more than usual. He spent extra time between his legs, rinsing his cock off as much as possible. The memory of Meg’s hot mouth had his skin crawling.

When they returned to the cell, he went straight for the bathroom. He shut the door behind him, feeling Dean’s eyes on the back of his head, and rushed over to the sink. He took his time brushing his teeth and splashing water onto his face.

When he exited the bathroom, Dean sat up in bed.

“Dude,” he snapped. “You gonna talk to me or just keep ignoring me all night?”

Castiel lifted himself off the ground, climbing up the ladder even though his abs and legs burned. He clicked on the heating pad and crawled under the sheets with it. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t able to respond to Dean, but he suspected it was because there was a huge lump in his throat that felt like guilt and shame.

Dean made a noise of frustration and climbed down from his bed. He grabbed his little bag of toiletries and disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Castiel heard the tap running and the aggressive brushing of teeth. After a few minutes, Dean reamerged, but Castiel kept his eyes averted. He merely listened to Dean climb up onto his bunk and open up the dog-eared book he had under his pillow.

Not able to look at Dean, knowing that he’d enjoyed Meg’s touch for a few moments, Castiel lay down on his back, closing his eyes when his muscles spasmed a bit.

“Meg,” he started. “She…”

He wasn’t sure why this was such a big deal. He and Dean weren’t married. He’d just kissed him a few times, and slept in his bed, and held his hand, and cuddled at every opportunity. Dean had only made himself sick to get sent to the infirmary to get medical supplies for Castiel when he’d been ill and hurt. Castiel had only subjected himself to man-handling and hard sedatives to give Dean a chance to speak to his brother for a minute or two.

No, he and Dean weren’t married, but Castiel was definitely belonged to Dean.

“Meg, she, um, she put her mouth on me,” Castiel admitted, his voice hoarse, his throat tight. He stared at the ceiling and raised a hand to push long brown locks from his forehead. He felt too cowardly to look over at the other bunk.

“Like, she kissed you?” Dean asked slowly.

Castiel swallowed audibly. “No, she didn’t kiss me. She put her… It was my, um—”

“She tried to blow you,” Dean supplied bluntly.

“Yes.”

There was a long silence. The room was cast into semi-darkness abruptly as Hannah called lights out from the corridor. The only light available was the light shining in from the grate in their cell door, and the fluorescent light shining into the cell from the bathroom, casting the dark room into hues of orange, brown, and black. Dean had forgotten to turn off the light.

“I’m sorry that she did that, Cas,” Dean whispered in the dark.

Castiel, finally, looked over, and found Dean staring at him in the dark, his brows furrowed, though his face didn’t seem angry, just confused.

“Why are you sorry?” Castiel asked tightly.

“Because,” Dean replied with a shrug, turning onto his side to face Cas, “that’s fucked up. We’re already chained and drugged up. It’s fucked up enough in the first place that we even have to do this shit, it’s even more fucked up that she tried to suck you off without your consent.”

And that’s when Dean paused, “You...didn’t consent, did you?”

“No!” Castiel replied immediately, his heart jumping up into his throat just at the thought. “No, I wouldn’t. I would never, Dean. I just...Dean, I just _liked it_ for a moment.” His hands came up and rubbed at his eyes, his head shaking. “It was just a second, perhaps not even that. I just was in so much pain and discomfort. She already made me feel uncomfortable and I was already on edge, but then she put her mouth on me and for a second, it felt good, I—”

What he didn’t expect was for Dean to start laughing. Dean grinned at him in the semi-darkness, his face lined harshly by the orange light, but the twinkle in his eye made him look younger. “Cas,” Dean chuckled, “were you scared I’d be mad about this?”

“Yes.”

Dean propped himself up onto his elbow and rubbed his face, his grin still in place. “You thought I’d be mad that a girl sucked you off for a sec and you liked it? Cas, I’d probably blow my load if someone put their mouth on my dick right now. Like, if Naomi came in here and put my cock in her mouth, I’d probably like it too—for a second,” he added with a snort.

Castiel rolled onto his side too, staring at Dean in horror. He didn’t need the mental image of Naomi going down on anyone, let alone Dean.

Dean shook his head. “Cas, I’m not mad. We’re being fucking tortured everyday. Everything feels like shit, and even when we’re scared, we still get hard, we still get boners. It feels like a betrayal to me when my body likes those first coupla orgasms, so I’m not surprised that you liked her mouth for a second. Relax, dude. You didn’t, like, cheat on me or anything.”

Ridiculously, Castiel felt like crying. Dean was fine, he wasn’t angry, he didn’t feel betrayed. Still, stupid, traitorous tears formed across Cas’ eyes, even when he nodded in agreement.

“Cas,” Dean’s voice went soft. “What’s up? You’ve got that face where you’re chin is going all wobbly, and your eyes go all pretty and bright. It makes me feel like an asshole because you look real nice so I kinda appreciate it, but clearly you’re just trying not to cry.”

_Get a grip, you are an adult,_ Castiel reminded himself, rolling onto his back again, looking away. He resumed the very intense staring contest with the ceiling.

“Well, how was the blowjob?” Dean asked.

“Nauseating,” Castiel snapped. “It lasted about five seconds before I threatened to scream for help.”

Dean chuckled. “Meg’s a real—”

Castiel interrupted, a hot tear escaping down his temple. “Why is this place intent on ruining _everything_? Will I have no sexuality left when I finally leave? Every-fucking-thing that happens to me here makes me feel hollow and ashamed and embarrassed. I-I used to really enjoy sex, but now I’m frightened I won’t ever be able to enjoy it again. I—”

His voice got to the point where it was so tight he could barely speak, his low, rough voice breaking. The one hot tear that escaped was followed by another as his throat closed.

Dean was yanking off his covers, jumping off his bunk, and climbing up onto Castiel’s by the time words had dissolved into harsh breaths. He was kneeling beside Cas, his hand on his shoulder, and in his field of vision, revealing a concerned face barely visible in the dark.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Dean murmured, shaking the shoulder in his hand a bit. “What’s up with the pity party? We’re getting out of here, Cas. This whole place will be nothing but a nasty memory one day. We—”

“What if I never want anyone to touch me ever again?" Castiel whispered, his chest getting tight, his heart pounding.

Dean snorted, his hand lifting to brush the tip of Castiel’s nose. "You might have an aversion to lab coats from now on, but just make sure you're not getting your jollies from people dressed like doctors, and you're good."

“Dean,” Castiel groaned, “stop joking."

Getting comfortable, Dean sat on his bum on the bed, pulling his hands into his lap. “You have to maintain perspective, Cas. There's no fucking way I'm letting this torture prison ruin sex for me."

Genuinely, Castiel asked, after turning his head on the pillow to stare at Dean, "How?"

Dean’s smile was crooked in the dim lighting. "You remember why you love sex."

With an ache in his heart, Castiel remembered a time before he’d walked into this place, when he’d had sex with Daphne. He recalled their first few times, having sex in every room of her first apartment. It had been a basement apartment, so they’d had to keep quiet, but being with her, touching her, kissing her...it had been everything he’d ever dreamed of at the time. He remembered going camping with her in the summers and making love in the tent, and fucking her fast and hard on park bench on the beach after hours, both of them laughing on their way back to the campsite after they’d evaded capture from the park rangers.

Then they had sex to start a family, back when they’d wanted to; every three weeks when she was ovulating, or when her temperature was right. They’d had sex because they felt like they had to, because his or her day was stressful, because she’d rather him fuck her than fuck his hand, because they hadn’t done it in a while… because, because, because.

“Companionship,” Castiel whispered. “Intimacy, love. Vulnerability. Desire.”

Dean smiled, sliding his gaze away to follow his knuckle as it dragged over Castiel’s bare arm, gently running over the soft skin on the inside of his forearm.

“None of the words you just said included ‘sample’, ‘session’, or ‘civic duty’. You didn’t say ‘torture’, or ‘pain’, or ‘shame’, or ‘humiliation’.” Dean’s green eyes flickered up, his finger uncurling so the tip of it retraced the trail his knuckle had made over Castiel’s skin. “What they're doing to us is fucked up, but just remember that being touched by someone else doesn't feel like it does in The Facility. Sex, fucking, making love, whatever; it doesn't hurt, it's not cruel. 99% of the time, when people touch you, it's not to hurt you. Not out there in the real world." Dean paused, swallowing, his throat bobbing. “Not in this cell, with me.”

Castiel sniffled, the last remaining tear running over his temple, into his hair. "That idea of someone touching me without intent to hurt seems almost quixotic."

The tip of Dean’s finger stopped on Cas’ wrist and tapped. His incisors flashed a bit. “I’m touching you now. Have you died? Does it hurt?”

“No,” Castiel murmured, eyes tearing away from Dean’s face to stare at the hand hovering over his wrist.

“Well, then,” Dean shrugged. “See? They haven’t gotten to you yet, sunshine. Not completely. Don’t let them take this from you. Don’t let them ruin it for you.”

"I just—"

"Close your eyes."

Castiel’s swallow was loud in the silence. "Okay."

Dean poked him in the arm when only one eye lid closed. "Close them!"

The room went completely dark as both of Castiel’s eyes snapped closed. He breathed out and said gruffly, "They're closed!"

"Okay,” Dean said quietly, loud enough for Castiel to hear up in the security of his bunk, but not loud enough for Dean to be heard out in the hall. “Sex isn’t about your dick being touched. You said it’s about intimacy, vulnerability, love. Now imagine your bed."

"I'm in my bed—"

"No, your real bed,” Dean corrected with an impatient sigh. “The one that's comfy and you look forward to seeing every day after work."

Castiel remembered the plush down duvet he’d bought after his first big pay cheque at work, and remembered his pillow. It was specifically _his_ because it was huge and sink-y. Daph had always complained about it, always warned him he was going to do permanent damage to his neck if he kept using it. The duvet covers were a pale dark blue, the sheets a steel grey. His bed ran parallel to their big window that overlooked the street and the other high rises. He could walk out onto his balcony from the bedroom to enjoy the sun rising in between the two buildings across the street.

“...okay,” he breathed.

"Now, uh, I’m gonna say some stuff, and I’m gonna ask before I do anything, so don't be weirded out, okay?"

Dean sounded a bit nervous, but Castiel felt increasingly nervous as he became more and more unsure of what was going on. "Dean..."

“You tell me if you want me to stop. I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

The bed dipped down, and the heat of Dean’s body was comforting as he lay down beside Castiel, not pressed too close, but close enough.

“Okay… Okay,” Dean whispered, and Castiel could so easily imagine him licking his upper lip with the tip of his tongue and dragging his teeth over his bottom lip, as he did when he was anxious. “Okay, what's your favourite place to be kissed? Other than lips."

Both a swell of nervousness and a jolt of excitement shot through Castiel’s stomach. He swallowed hard. "My neck."

His neck instantly felt cold as he remembered what it used to feel like for someone to kiss him there.

“Okay. Imagine someone kissing you there."

Castiel was way ahead of him, remembering with a pang of longing, what it felt like to be kissed over his skin, down his neck, behind his ear.

“How is it?” Dean asked after a minute of silence.

Castiel licked his lips. “Very nice.”

“Does it hurt?” Dean asked, his voice teasing.

“No,” Castiel replied with a breathy laugh. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay, now, uh, where do you like to be touched with hands?”

Interesting question. Castiel thought about all the people he’d been with intimately, and tried to recall a moment where he felt the thrill of someone’s hands on him. He thought of Daphne’s hands on his shoulders or running over his chest, but now the memory of her seemed skewed. In his imagination, her hands felt cold.

He recalled Dean’s hands on his face when he was sick, reaching to cup his jawline to offer some comfort.

“My face,” Castiel breathed, his words barely audible.

“And?”

He had no other point of reference for how else Dean’s hands would feel on his skin other than his waist and hand, and he was damn sure there better places to feel fingers dragging over his skin.

“Probably my legs,” he murmured, getting lost in the fantasy of Dean’s rough, warm hands on his legs— “The inside of them,” he added, his voice husky.

“Good,” Dean murmured, somewhere to his right, but close. Close enough that Castiel could smell minty toothpaste and feel Dean’s breath flow over his jaw, neck, and chest as he spoke, warm and comforting like the breeze from tropical vacations. “If I was to run my hands over your legs, d’you think it that hurt?”

“No,” Castiel replied, a little huff of laughter in his voice.

“Now what about tongue? Where’s your favourite place to be touched with a tongue?”

“You mean licked?” Castiel asked, his usual brain-to-mouth filter fizzling out as he felt fantom lips on his neck and hands on his face, his imaginary scenario heating up. He imagined the sun shining through his blinds over his bed, illuminating him and his lover. The lover put hands on his legs, dragging nails over the inside of his thighs.

“Yeah, where do you like to be licked?” Dean asked with an embarrassed little chuckle.

“Here,” Castiel whispered, reaching out blindly until he found Dean’s hand. He intertwined their fingers and guided them through the air. He dragged Dean’s one finger over the dip of his hip bone, the ‘V’ that bracketed the soft flesh under his belly button and the dark trail of hair disappearing under his waistband. The soft touch, both in reality and in the scenario in his head, caused him to shudder.

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to fool or hide from in his mind. Clearly, the lover in his brain, kissing and touching and licking him on his bed was Dean. He saw it clearly now; him and Dean, half-naked, their hair clean and their skin soft, legs intertwined in grey sheets, kissing under the stripes of sun-rise, hips rolling together.

Dean’s fingers were guided slowly over the dip in hip bone, first on one side, then the other. It made Castiel’s skin feel like it was tingling, like Dean’s fingers were conduits for warmth and comfort. With a surge of bravery, Castiel guided their hands down further, sliding over his hip and pulling the willing, learning fingers over the insides of his legs.

“Is this okay?” Castiel asked after a moment, realising that he wasn’t the only one subjected to the horrors of The Facility. Dean had been here longer, he’d experienced more instances of sexual cruelty and abuse. His eyes slid open and stayed wide, searching Dean’s face for fear. Their joined hands paused on Castiel’s legs.

Not an ounce of fear was found in Dean’s face. Just wonder and curiosity. He was staring at Castiel through the dark like he couldn’t quite believe or understand what he was looking at.

“This is better than okay. I haven’t felt so good in a long time,” Dean whispered, the dim light from the corridor hugging the contours of his face. Where Castiel was angular, Dean was soft. He was rather mesmerizing.

Castiel ended up watching the way the light melted into Dean’s lips when the man asked, “Cas, do you think...I could kiss your neck? And put my hands on your face, and—”

“You can do all those things,” Castiel whispered, lifting his gaze from Dean’s lips to his open, honest eyes. “You can do anything.”

“You trust me?” Dean asked.

“I do,” Castiel replied without hesitation. But then, he paused, his hand gripping Dean’s, still lingering over his hip bone.

Something shifted in the air as they both seem to realise what was happening. It stopped being about Castiel’s fear of not wanting being touched, and this stopped being Dean trying to help him be comfortable with closeness. The little experiment ended when Castiel had taken Dean’s fingertips and ran them over his skin. Something was going to happen between them and Castiel suddenly felt overwhelmingly sure he was okay with that. He was about to give permission for his life to change, for him to try something—or some things—he’d never done before. For the first time in a while, he wasn’t frightened. Nervous, certainly, but not frightened.

“Dean, I, um…” He swallowed, feeling a flutter of nervousness in his stomach. “I’ve never been with a man before.”

Dean grinned against his face, mid-way through an attempt to kiss Castiel’s cheek. “It’s a lot like being with a woman, except there’s a penis.”

“It’s not the penis part that I’m unsure about, Dean.”

There it was. The thing Castiel was about to try that he’d never tried before; sex with a man. Specifically, sex with Dean. Sex with someone who didn’t want to hurt him, sex with someone new, someone he’d potentially been waiting years for and just hadn’t known it.

“What’s happening here, Cas?” Dean whispered, searching Castiel’s face.

Despite the excitement and lack of fear, Castiel was unsure of Dean’s reaction, so he shrugged and swallowed hard. “I think you know.”

To his relief, Dean planted a warm, soft kiss on Castiel’s cheek, their stubble scratching together.

“I got you. If...if you really want to do this, if you’re ready, then you don’t have to worry about not having been with a guy yet, Cas. I’ve done this before and, look, if you’ve had anal before then you know the drill—” Dean paused to snicker. “Pun intended.”

Castiel found himself smiling. It seemed there were few situations where Dean couldn’t find an opportunity to make a joke.

“I have,” Castiel admitted. His first girlfriend, April, had been very religious and of the mindset that sex didn’t count if it wasn’t in her vagina. It had led to them discovering some interesting loopholes that included having anal in her beat-up white Honda Civic in their church parking lot.

“Then you know what to do,” Dean reassured.

With his heart in his throat, Castiel whispered, “I haven’t ever...received.”

Dean’s hand found itself on Castiel’s face, fingers gentle as they tucked hair behind his ear. “You don’t have to. You’ll never have to, if you don’t want to. I wouldn’t ever ask you to do something you don’t want—”

“I want it, Dean.”

The words surprised Castiel almost as much as they surprised Dean. But the knot of excitement in Castiel’s stomach unfurled and spread through his body warmly. He _did_ want it. He wanted Dean. He wanted to be vulnerable for someone who didn’t look to damage him or take something from him that he wouldn't give freely. Dean was comfort, he was warmth, he would take care of him.

Dean pulled back abruptly, looking genuinely confused. “Cas…”

Castiel blinked quickly, looking away from Dean, summoning courage to speak. With his free hand he gestured to himself vaguely. With a voice that wavered, he replied quietly, “Everything I’ve done before has been tainted by something or someone in this place. I just...want something new. Something that I’ve done with only you. Something that is ours.” He paused, shifting his gaze back onto Dean’s perplexed, worried face. “Please?”

Dean swallowed visibly and he whispered, “Cas, I didn’t climb up here to take advantage of you. I-I just wanted to help, to make you feel good—”

“I know,” Castiel replied quickly, his hand squeezing Dean’s. “I know you didn’t want to take advantage, but...don’t you want to be with me in this way? Now that you’re here?” He stopped speaking for a moment, feeling unsure at Dean’s silence. Suddenly it occurred to Castiel that he might’ve been reading the signals all wrong. “You do...want me, right?”

He thought Dean would reject him, would turn him down, especially because Dean stared at him for much too long, his eyes searching his face, his expression filtering through various emotions.

But then, Dean leaned down and captured Castiel’s lips. The kiss was slow at first, like he was pouring comfort and warmth and affection into every slide of his lips and tilt of his chin. Then his hand slid into Castiel’s hair and they release their linked hands. One of Castiel’s hands immediately went up to Dean’s shoulder, gripping tightly, while the other grasped desperately at his face and jaw, fingers scraping across stubble. Their kiss got more frantic, their breaths heavy and heady, their hands sliding across skin and grasping at their clothes.

“Yes,” Dean gasped into Cas’ mouth. “Yes, I want you. I-I want this.”

“Then take it,” Castiel panted, his lips sliding against Dean’s before he was reaching down, his shaking hand sliding over Dean’s stomach and down over his middle, fingers fumbling to slide under his waistband. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, but he was going for it. He hoped Dean liked to be touched the way he did, because that’s what he’d be going for...

“Wait,” Dean muttered against Cas’ lips, though Castiel ignored him at first, arching his spine, pressing their chests together. With a snort and a grin against Castiel’s lips, he growled, “ _Wait_.”

When Dean got up and quietly climbed off the bed, Castiel lay there, chest rising and falling quickly. He yanked the heating pad off of his stomach and ran his finger through his hair. He was shaking. He wondered what the hell he’d just signed up for, but the anxiousness was heavily overridden by the idea of rocking against Dean, of panting and grasping, and feelings something new. He found that he was actually rather desperate to have Dean inside him, filling him, and he found his imagination running wild with what it would feel like for Dean’s cock to be slicked up and sliding in him.

And holy...shit. For the first time in weeks, he was getting hard on his own, with no brown pill or a glass of water in sight. The very idea of Dean spreading his legs, pushing them apart, spread him open and fucking his ass was getting him rock hard. And it didn’t hurt.

The excitement of this revelation had Castiel almost working on autopilot, licking at his hand and pushing his pant downs just enough to free his cock. He started stroking himself, chin tilted back and eyes sliding closed. It felt insanely satisfying to touch himself again, to drag his hand up his shaft with the _right_ pressure, with—

“Holy shit,” Dean breathed. Castiel opened his eyes, which had to adjust to the darkness for a second, and saw Dean back on his bed, half on the mattress, one leg still on the ladder. He had a bottle of something in his hand, but the distracting part was the look of helpless arousal on Dean’s face. He looked almost lost as his eyes seemed mesmerized on Castiel’s hand, jerking lazily at his dick. Dean’s mouth hung open just a bit, and his throat bobbed up and down.

To his credit, he recovered quickly and finished crawling up onto the bed. He sat up on his knees, watching Cas stroke himself in the dark. Then, after a loud swallow, he pointed at Cas’ cock and whispered, “Cas, can I—”

But Castiel shook his head and replied back, “You can do whatever.”

And for some reason, Castiel had assumed “whatever” meant Dean wanted to replace his hands on his cock, but he didn’t expect Dean to throw aside the bottle he’d retrieved, immediately lean over, and take Castiel’s cock so far into his mouth that his lips hit dark curls of hair and his throat tightened around the tip. When he pulled back, the flat of his tongue running hot and slick along the underside of Cas’ shaft, he swallowed a gulp of air and even in the darkness, Castiel saw his lips shining with spit and pre-come. Cas’ cock had the same quality and Dean took advantage of that immediately, giving it a good, solid few pumps with his hand before taking him back in his mouth, his head bobbing, his tongue lapping and swirling around the head.

Castiel put his own hand over his own mouth, his breath coming out hard and fast as Dean hummed around his dick, his throat fluttering around his cock.

He wanted to cry. It felt good. It actually felt _good_. Nothing hurt, or burned, and there was no shame settled in his stomach, or fear, or pain. Dean’s mouth was expert and hot, slick and sucking the ever-living-fuck out of Castiel’s rock hard cock. He was actually frightened he might come too fast, especially when Dean managed to both deep-throat him and jerk his head back and forth quickly, face fucking himself on Cas’ dick.

Not wanting to come yet, it was a relief when Dean stopped, and crawled up Cas’ body, stopping to capture his lips again, his mouth tasting sweet, his lips slick and swollen a bit. Against Cas’ exposed cock, Dean’s had grown and hardened in his scrubs, revealing a cock that was thick and heavy. When Dean’s lips dragged across Cas’ jawline and trailed down his neck, he kissed him just at the base of his neck where his shoulder and collarbone intersected, dragging his tongue over the crevice there. Castiel tried to stay quiet through the amazing, almost porn-like blowjob, but the swipe of hot, eager tongue across that spot on his neck made Castiel turn his head quickly and muffle a gasp into Dean’s hair.

“Shhh,” Dean whispered against his neck. “They can’t hear us, Cas. You gotta be quiet.”

However, Dean was sending extremely mixed messages, because his sloppy, slippery kisses trailed over Castiel’s neck and his hand reached down to wrench Cas’ t-shirt up around his collarbone. Dean’s body slithering down until his mouth was latched around a nipple, his tongue twirling around it delightfully, popping off with a gentle nip. His hands, dry and warm, slid over Cas’ side and then up again, dragging his nails softly over the bare skin of his lower abs, leaving soft trails behind over the soft trail of hair. His mouth soon followed, leaving shining patches where he licked and kissed. He was careful not to leave any marks.

Cas felt useless, he felt like he should be doing something, but every small movement, every touch and kiss or lick felt overwhelming, especially after feeling so horrible for weeks. His hands could do nothing else but tangle in Dean’s hair and grip his shoulder so hard he was surprised he hadn’t left his handprint behind.

I occured to him that he should ask Dean where he wanted to be touched, where he liked to be kissed, and licked, and hell, even bitten. But words escaped him when Dean’s reached over Cas’ heaving chest and picked up the bottle he’d retrieved from his bunk.

“W-What is that?” Castiel asked, squinting in the dark.

Dean grinned, holding up the bottle and giving it a wave. “Lube. Stole it on my second day here.”

Castiel’s mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide. He lifted his head from the pillow, looking between the bottle and Dean. “How did you do that?”

“Lube now, talk later,” Dean whispered, winking. “Now roll over. I want to ease you into this and I got an idea.”

Again, the nervous feeling returned to Castiel’s stomach as he did as he was told, rolling onto his stomach. His cock was sandwiched in between his stomach and the heating pad, which he did not mind, but then Dean curled his fingers around Cas’ hips and urged him onto his knees. A nervous, pointed breath was pushed out between Castiel’s lips as the butterflies in his stomach flapped harder. He was on his hands and knees by the time Dean rested a gentle hand on his back.

“Cas?” he asked quietly, his tone gentle. “We don’t have to do this today.”

He wasn’t sure how he’d known he might be nervous, but Castiel shook his head, looking over his shoulder. “I want to. I do. I’m fine. Just nervous.”

“I know. I’m...kinda nervous, too,” Dean admitted. His hands rubbed gently over Cas’ lower back. “But I got you, okay? And this isn’t the dairy farm. If something hurts, it stops, okay?”

Even though the butterflies still flapped and he was starting to lose his erection because of it, Castiel nodded in a show of bravery anyway. “Okay… Okay.”

“Now try to relax.”

Again, Dean was sending him mixed messages, because the second Castiel tried to relax, he felt a hot tongue slid between his asscheeks, licking a stripe over his tight hole, and he sucked in a breath, overwhelmed by how hard his cock got in a matter of seconds. He hardly had time to recover before Dean was sucking and licking circles, and patterns and stripes across the tight ring of muscle. Every time he sucked, Castiel felt his legs tremble and his back give a abrupt jerk, his spine arching and convulsing. No one had ever put their mouth on him like that and he suddenly realised why he felt like his sex life had been missing something. Clearly his sex life had been missing Dean’s tongue on his asshole.

Castiel’s fingers curled into the blankets and his mouth dropped open, though he held back that scream of pleasure that wanted to escape. Dean had reached up with one hand to spread him open further so that he could _slip his tongue in Cas’ ass and fuck him with it._ Cas’ eyes all but rolled back, and an accidental keen slipped from his mouth. He dropped onto his elbows so fast he thought that he’d lost all function of his arms. One of his hands snapped back, and like he was psychic, Dean’s hand was already there, ready to link fingers and hold Cas’ hand through the most thorough tongue-fucking he assumed anyone on the planet had ever had.

The butterflies dropped dead as Cas’ natural instincts took over and he forgot all about decency and nerves. He rocked back on his elbows, fucking himself on Dean’s tongue and trying not to come when Dean reached between his legs and jerked him off with hands that were slick. He had no memory of Dean squeezing out lube, but suddenly there was lube, and a lot of it.

“Is this okay?” Dean asked breathlessly, raising his head.

A surge of horny anger shot down Cas’ spine and he pushed himself up onto his arms again, twisted his torso, and reached back to push Dean’s head back down, holding him in place and rolling his hips. If there was any concern in him that Dean didn’t like to be manhandled, it evaporated right then and there when Dean’s tongue was ready, sliding into Cas’ ass as he rolled his hips and fucked himself back on Dean’s face.  
  


Still, doubt niggled in the back of his mind and Castiel’s hand retreated. Breathlessly, he whispered, “I’m sorry, I’m sor—”

Dean reached up and grabbed his hand again, replacing it on his head, his green eyes snapping up, dark with lust and determination. Castiel exhaled shakily, fingers digging into Dean’s hair.

Time passed like they were in an alternative dimension, because Castiel wasn’t sure how long Dean was back there for, but when he pulled back, panting, Castiel was impossibly hard, his legs were shaking, and his ass was slick with spit, feeling it tumbling down his thighs. On all fours, his limbs trembling, it occurred to him yet again to do something. Maybe the vision of Dean with his cock buried in his throat had been inspirational, because he suddenly felt overcome with the need to take Dean into his mouth too, to feel the silky skin of his cock on his tongue. He wanted to taste it, to see what it felt like, to watch Dean’s face look wrecked, his mouth parted—

It was, again, completely forgotten when fingers replaced Dean’s tongue—one, then two. They were coated in lube and working him slowly.

“How does that feel, Cas?” Dean asked, his voice hoarse. Then, he added, “We can stop anytime. I’m just getting you ready, getting you used to the feeling.”

Castiel wanted to open his mouth to tell Dean he was ready, but a whimper escaped instead as Dean’s fingers slid in and out of him, and his thumb pressed against his perineum. He kept finger-fucking him until a third finger slipped in.

“I’m ready,” Cas whispered frantically, unable to handle that aching need to be filled anymore. The fingers felt euphoric, but he wanted more.

And he did get more. He watched over his shoulder as Dean pulled his shirt over his head and tugged off his pants, just enough, just enough to free his cock which shone at the tip, dripping pre-come. It was thick and smooth looking, curved up a bit, and watching Dean smear lube all over it with a slide of his palm and a twist of his wrist made Castiel wonder how he ever fancied himself to be completely straight. Clearly that cock had been sculpted by god to slide home, right into Cas’ ass where it belonged.

The hand, shining even in the semi-darkness, was slick and thick with lube, even after spreading it onto himself. Dean looked hot, his mouth parted a bit, lips shining, green eyes dark and hooded as he watched himself spread the excess lube over Cas’ ass, his fingers dipping into the eager hole as they slipped by.

While Castiel was no wimp, he did feel a jolt of panic as he felt Dean press the tip of his cock against his waiting, slick hole. Dean’s cock wasn’t obscenely long, but it was certainly thick and had some weight to it. Cas’ fingers curled into the sheets, feeling sweat break out on the back of his neck and in the dip in his lower back. He felt Dean push forward a bit, slowly, carefully. Castiel felt Dean’s fingers around his own cock, being conscious of how far he was going in. Castiel squeezed his eyes shut as he felt himself stretch open, the feeling burning and painful. It wasn’t unbearable, but the sting was there. He bit down on his lip and was about to ask Dean to stop when Dean went still on his own.

Castiel released a long, carefully breath through his pursed lips and raised a hand from the mattress to shake it out, as if that would help at all.

“You alright?” Dean asked in a soft whisper, his warm, dry hands kneading the tense muscles of Cas’ back, sliding up his spine and over his shoulders in firm circles. “You gotta relax, you’re freezing up.”

“Slow, just—” Castiel swallowed. “Just go slow.”

“Breathe,” Dean murmured, fingers massaging Cas’ neck, his fingers sliding up and down into Cas’ hair at the nape of his neck. “Don’t hold your breath, Cas. It won’t help you relax.”

And there was the truth. Castiel had been holding a lungful of air, expecting pain, even though he hadn’t realised it. He _was_ freezing.

He took a minute to breath, and Dean was patient, unmoving, except for one calmingly, kneading hand on Castiel’s hips, the other rubbing circles into his back and neck. Before he knew what he was doing, as soon as he felt himself lose some tension in his core, Castiel had taken a deep breath and actually pushed himself back against Dean, slowly.

Dean’s groan was delicious, and he tried to stifle it by hissing. They both jolted a bit when Castiel managed to slid himself back far enough to finally take the entire head of Dean’s cock. From then on, it was easier, not as bad, not as painful and the stretch was less. The feeling of excitement was quickly returning as Dean took Castiel’s hips in both hands and slowly pushed forward, driving his cock deeper into Cas’ ass.

I wasn’t entirely pleasurable yet, but it wasn’t aching anymore. Actually, as Dean began to pull out, and his thick cock head slid through him, textured, yet smooth, it hit a spot that felt delightful, warming something in the pit of Cas’ stomach.

For the first time since Dean pushed his cock into that tight hole, Castiel’s breath hitched with pleasure and he moaned softly.

“That feel good?” Dean asked.

“Mmhm,” Castiel nodded, eyes sliding shut, his chin tilting down and resting on his chest as he rode the feeling of a slick cock, thick and heavy, sliding out of him almost completely, being slowly sliding back in.

This time, Dean didn’t seem to be able to help the shudder than ran through him. Castiel felt the tremble in the muscles of Dean’s thighs against the back of his own, and the hands on his hips gripped a bit harder. The slick sounds of Dean fucking him actually caused a shudder of his own to run through him, turning him on. Cas felt himself get harder and felt pleasure build again at the base of his cock as it felt better and better to get fucked. He could hardly believe this was happening, that he was on his hands and knees in front of Dean, that he was getting fucked by Dean’s cock, and that he was liking it.

He was liking it _a lot_ , he decided after a few minutes of slow, careful fucking. As his pleasure grew, as he adjusted to the feeling of being penetrated, suddenly he wished for Dean to stop being so considerate. Every time he almost completely pulled out, the thick head of his cock stretching that first tight ring of muscle just enough, Castiel found himself pushing back onto it, wanting to be filled again, wanted to be stretched and fucked, and for Dean to brush that spot again that made his cock jump and a moan tumble off his lips.

_Fuck this_ , Castiel thought, before he recalled how Daphne used to look on her hands and knees, remember how hot it was to see the curl of her spine. Mimicking the memory, Castiel dropped down onto his elbows and pushed back abruptly, taking Dean’s cock faster, his spine curling in as he pulled away, and pushed back up as he rode Dean, taking his him deep, relishing in the wet, slick sounds of his ass swallowing Dean’s thick cock whole. Castiel jerked and jumped a bit, breath catching in his throat when Dean grunted and gasped, and as he backed right up against him, taking Dean as far in as he could go, the rough hair at the base of Dean’s cock tickling his skin.

“Holy shit,” Dean choked out. His fingers flexed and grasped at Cas’ ass, spreading him open to get a better view. “H-Holy fuck, Cas. You look so good stretched around my cock. I...God, you’re so hot.”

The growl in Dean’s voice was enough indication that Castiel had done the right thing. He repeated the movement, back flexing and spine curling as he rode the eager cock. Before they really knew what was happening, Castiel was fucking himself on Dean’s cock, feeling each thrust in every nerve of his body like suddenly nothing else mattered. He felt his cock tighten and thrum with pleasure, pre-come dripping from it. Heat spread across Castiel’s chest, and if the lights had been on, he was sure he’d look flushed, redness spreading across his chest and face. His cheeks would be patchy and skin shining. That heat spread through him, pooling in his stomach and winding through his middle, curling around his legs and twisting deep between his legs, urging on the building throb of a powerful orgasm.

Castiel could feel that Dean was trying his hardest to not make any noise. His cock was driven into Cas, but never far enough in for their skin to slap together, and his movements were controlled so that the bed didn’t creak. His fingers flexed on the curl of Cas’ hips, and they shook with restrained pleasure. Occasionally, those trembling fingers spread Cas’ ass to watch his shining, dripping cock slid in and out of the hole, which probably looked equally gleaming with enough lube and spit to drown them both.

When Castiel turned his head, resting his stubbly chin on his own shoulder, he watched Dean, becoming infinitely more turned on at the wrecked, delicious look of pure ecstasy on his face. Dean’s full lips were swollen from constantly having him lick and bite at them. His face was shining and red, his eyes almost glassy with pleasure. Damp pieces of dirty blonde hair clumped together at his temples and hairline where sweat beaded up. He was downright exquisite in the way he was coming undone.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, his breath coming out in raspy, quiet pants. “Where do you want me to come?”

Castiel wasn’t sure where the hell this had come from, but he immediately reached over his shoulder and tugged his shirt over his head, not caring to take it off completely. The shirt bunched across his chest, his arms still in the arm holes, and his hair became even more of a mussed mess than usual.

With a hoarse croak and a backwards glance through hooded eyes, Castiel commanded, “On my back.”

While he felt just as surprised as Dean felt, they both recovered from it quickly and fell back into the moment. Dean’s pace went from careful, controlled thrusts, to snapping, erratic shoves of his hips. His hands slid from Castiel’s hips back to his ass, his fingernails digging into the skin there, squeezing hard, spreading him open to watch as his erratic thrusts. The abrupt change of pace and the curve of Dean’s dick was doing things to Cas he wasn’t ready for. He felt a rush through his cock that circuited back to his prostate, the sweet spot seeming to swell as his orgasm rushed to the finish line.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” was all Dean could manage before he quickly pulled out and jerked his cock with a desperate fist, coming in long, powerful stripes across Cas’ back. The hot come streaked up his spine and on the sliding muscles of Cas’ back. However, the thing that had Cas reach between his legs and jerk himself off towards his own orgasm was the soft whimpers that accidentally escaped Dean’s lips as the last come shots landed on Cas’ lower back, painting the two dimples that framed his tailbone.

No one had ever done that to him before, for obvious reasons, but suddenly Cas couldn’t think of anything hotter. He had hot come sliding over his waist and down his ribs, and yet he couldn’t wait until Dean did it again. He was so turned on he couldn’t imagine anything more erotic and yet—

While Castiel slid his hand over his own hard shaft, aching for release for the first time in weeks, he had no idea that this could get hotter. Barely recovered from his orgasm, Dean slid back on the bed and dropped down onto his elbows. His tongue slid easily into Cas’ ass, fucking the loose, wet hole so thoroughly, it was a surprise he didn’t throw out his neck. Dean hummed against the used, swollen hole and reached forward, rolling Cas’ balls in his hand. The very moment the tip of Dean’s tongue swirled around the inside of clenching muscle, his balls tightened, and Castiel was coming, come rushing out of his cock, rumbling from deep in his balls and up his shaft, erupting in spurts from the end. Thick come spilled over his fist, tumbling over his fingers, dripping onto the bed, briefly streaking up against his stomach.

It couldn’t be helped, it was an accident, but Castiel cried out, desperate, entirely overwhelmed by all the sensations occurring in him and to him, especially by Dean’s tongue, which fucked him almost roughly through his orgasm, and by Deanʼs hand, which cradled his balls in his hot, damp palm.

As soon as the cry escaped his lips, a lot of things happened at once. Dean threw himself on top of Cas, slapping a hand over his mouth, his chest sliding over cooling come on Cas’ back. Almost seconds after the sound, Hannah was yelling at them from down the hallway. It seemed almost too soon that she was at the door, banging on it with a baton.

“What the hell was that, Grace? Winchester? What’s going on in there?”

It would have been hilarious, if not entirely terrifying because of their situation, that Cas was coming still as Hannah screamed at them. With Dean pressing them both down onto the bed, they were out of eyesight, but his eyes rolled back and he felt another hot wave of come pool over his hand, soaking into his sheets as he shuddered in Dean’s arms.

“A… A nightmare,” Dean choked out, his mouth near Cas’ ear, and thankfully his voice sounded hoarse. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I’ll keep it down.”

His hand, trapped between his body and the mattress, gave his cock one last squeeze, pulling the last of his orgasm from his body. Castiel’s eyes rolled back down, but his eyes stayed shut. He was so out of breath he nearly saw stars, and _fuckin’_ _Hannah was still talking._

“You’d better, ‘cause if you keep making those noises, I’m gonna come in there and give you another reason to have nightmares.”

Oh, fuck.

If Hannah came in there, she’d see that Dean wasn’t in his bed, and she’d see Castiel covered in come, his legs and ass glistening with spit, and lube. He was a mess.

He’d be even more of a mess if he was shot in the head.

“I’m real sorry, Hannah,” Dean said to her after clearing his throat. His hand was still clamped tightly over Cas’ mouth, tightening in warning. “I’m real sorry I bugged you.”

He sounded sincere, and it was probably because he must’ve also realised that they’d be dead men if Hannah caught them tangled up in each other, in the wrong beds, and worst of all, caught them wasting samples.

“Go to sleep, Winchester. I don’t want to hear anything else from inside this cell, do you understand? And for fuck’s sake, turn off the bathroom light.”

They both relaxed when Hannah’s footsteps disappeared down the corridor. Dean released a long breath and let his hand slid away from Cas’ mouth. He melted down into Cas, leaning heavily on his back, letting his face bury into his shoulder.

“Oh my god,” Dean muttered into Cas’ skin. “I thought she was gonna come in here. We’d be fucked.”

The relief that was coursing through Castiel was almost as pleasurable as the light tremors passing through him, and the slow release of relaxation through his muscles as his post-orgasm haze settled.

“I’m so sorry,” Castiel whispered in a breath into his pillow, the cool fabric feeling soothing on his hot face. “I couldn’t help myself, it was like I had no control. It just...Dean, that was amazing.”

The fact that he could feel Dean’s smile curling across the skin of his shoulder made his chest immediately feel warm.

“For someone who’s never had sex with a guy before, you sure were into having sex with a guy.”

Castiel grinned, turning his face into the pillow, embarrassed as he remembered only minutes ago, fucking himself back around a thick cock like he’d been doing it for ages. It was almost embarrassing how needy he’d been for it, for how his legs seemed to spread without his knowledge, and his spine had curled up and down as he rode Dean.

“I, uh, got pretty into it,” he admitted. “It felt so much better than I thought.”

Dean nudged his jawline with his nose, urging Cas to look at him. Although even not looking at his face, Castiel knew by the sound of his voice, that Dean was grinning. He said, “I almost blew my load the second you told me to come on your back. Where the hell did that come from?” He paused, adding with a little mischeifious shimmy of his hips, “Not that I minded. That image alone will bring me comfort for foreseeable future whenever this place tries to bring me down.”

Castiel shrugged, his brows shooting up onto his forehead. With an earnest breath, he said, “I have no idea. I just, um, really, really wanted it. It might have been one of the dirtiest things I’ve ever asked someone to do. I almost feel like I need to go to confession.”

The two grown men shook with laughter, their noises crinkling up as they chuckled silently and pressed their foreheads together. Dean cuddled closer to Cas, still on top of him.

“And I told you,” Dean whispered at the tail end of a giggle, “I told you they hadn’t gotten to you yet. You still got it, sunshine.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed, nodding, relaxing back into the pillow, gazing at Dean. “I suppose as long as we have this, as long as I have you, they can’t get me.”

“Their torture will be nothing but a bad memory once we’re outta here,” Dean concurred, nodding against Cas’ shoulder. His eyes searched Cas’ face for a long, drawn out moment, and then he reached up and tucked a damp hair behind Castiel’s ear. “I was thinkin’, you know, at the dairy farm, when they first touch us, it feels good?”

The shame of that understanding settled in Castiel’s stomach as he nodded. Meg’s dark eyes flickering up at him from between his legs, her lips around his dick, flashed behind his eyes for a moment and he physically curled up, disgusted.

“Yes,” he breathed.

“Well,” Dean offered shyly, a look that seemed foreign on his features, “whenever that happens, just imagine this. What just happened between us. Keep that sensation just for you.”

“So it doesn’t belong to them,” Castiel realised. “Just us.”

Dean’s small, crooked smile warmed his heart and made the shame lessen. “Just us.” He ran the finger over the soft shell of Cas’ ear. “As a matter of fact, when it feels good, just look at me. I’ll be there for you, Cas, for when it’s good. When it’s bad, you look down at Meg or whatever milker right in their fuckin’ eye and remember that they are temporary. They’re not important. They’re not anyone important to you. They strictly exist to hurt you and they’re not the end-all and be-all of what sex or intimacy is supposed to be like.”

“Dean?”

Dean blinked as Cas’ lips twisted into a toothy little smile. “What?”

“What did you do for a living when you were out there?” he asked, clarifying, “Before.”

Dean shrugged and asked with a quiet, confused chuckle, “A mechanic. Why?”

“You missed your calling as a therapist.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and shook a bit with giggles. “Cas, my kinda therapy is outlawed in every state except for Nevada I’m pretty sure.”

“Magic healing penis,” Castiel teased.

“Step into my office, let me make you gay.”

“Shhhh!” Castiel chuckled, “Stop making me laugh, you’ll get us killed. This is still very much a compromising position.”

Dean groaned, nodding. “Right. I forgot we’re still glued together. Okay. Hold still.”

There was a rather disturbing squelching sound as they pulled apart. Dean made a noise of disgust, but abruptly made a noise of alarm as Castiel made to turn over. “Careful!” he whispered quickly. “Don’t roll over. We can't get this shit anywhere on the sheets. They’ll punish you if they find any of this during the laundry turnover. We gotta wash this off in the ba… Cas, where did you come?”

Dean’s eyes went a bit wide with fear. Castiel felt his heart stop and his stomach gave an anxious squeeze.

“Fuck,” Cas whispered, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees, almost nauseous with fear, expecting ejaculate to be smeared into the sheets under him where his hand and cock had been pinned by Dean.

The two men exhaled with relief when they saw the heating pad perfectly placed where Cas had been lying. It was gross and stained white now, shining in the dim bathroom lighting, but the sheets were untouched by it.

“Oh, thank fuck,” Dean groaned. “I thought we were about to get in deep shit. But this? We can wash this and not care about the staining. Here, take off the fabric cover, we can wash it in the sink.”


	10. Hatred for Her

As hot and mind-blowing as the sex had been last night, the next morning Castiel found himself hissing in discomfort as he climbed down the ladder from his bunk. Dean was already up, sitting at the desk under his bunk, feet up on the table top, flipping through a book.

“Morning, sunshine,” he greeted, flashing Cas a happy grin. 

“Your magic healing penis,” Cas groaned, his feet hitting the cold floor, “really hurt my ass.”

Dean hopped to his feet, following Cas to the bathroom. “I mean, I could give it to you again, see if the healing magic really works.”

Castiel snorted as he fetched his toothbrush from cup by the sink and he squeezed the toothpaste onto the bristles. “Are you banking on ‘only one way to find out’ working on me?”

It was hard to resist that grin as Dean winked at him through the mirror, crowding up behind him and curling one arm around his waist. Castiel rolled his eyes as Dean grabbed his own toothbrush and held it out to receive some toothpaste.

After Castiel dispensed some on the brush for him, Dean cuddled behind him, an arm still around his waist, resting his cheek on Cas’ shoulder as he brushed his teeth and hummed to himself, danced lightly, swaying. 

Cas stopped brushing his teeth and asked with a chuckle of amusement. “Are you humming _‘Sexual Healing_ ’ to yourself?”

Dean pulled away from the cuddle for a second to spit into the toilet. Then he grinned at Cas and sang out of tune, “ _And when I get that feeling, I want sexual healing_ ,” he did a little shimmy and brushed his molars, pausing to add, “ _Sexual! Heeeealing is good for me. Makes me feel, soooo fine—_ ”

“You’re something else,” Cas snorted, popping the cheap brush into his mouth and scrubbing. Still, he watched, his blue eyes twinkling happily as Dean swayed a little behind him, humming the rest of the song as he stared up at the ceiling and finished brushing his teeth.

As he watched Dean, he felt something unfurl inside of him, something light and airy, something he hadn’t felt in years. It made him feel suspiciously good, made him feel...happy.

For those few minutes, as they brushed their teeth together to the off-key sound of Dean singing to himself, Castiel felt like he wasn’t far from home, and he wasn’t alone. He felt, with Dean by his side, that he would be okay.

Castiel left Dean alone in the bathroom after receiving a small, gentle kiss to the lips. He went back to his bunk, spotting the cord of the heating pad hanging out from under his mattress, and smiled as he tucked it away. 

With that memory of their night together at the forefront of his mind and stored inside his heart like a weapon in his arsenal against The Facility, he felt like nothing could get him down anymore, not really.

Of course, nothing ever went his way, and today was no different. He just didn’t know it yet.

***

It was hard not to touch Dean during breakfast. Dean kept flashing him little secret smiles over his food and brushing his foot under the table. It was cliche, it was pathetically sappy, but Castiel recognized the feeling he’d felt this morning, the lightness in his chest; he was kind of falling for his roommate, for the feisty man who was funny, and brave, and made him feel confident in an environment that functioned solely to destroy him.

The morning was typically Castiel’s least favourite time of day, with two sessions ahead of him, but as he walked in front of Dean to the day’s first trip to the dairy farm, he didn’t feel the usual fear. He felt Dean’s eyes on him and as they crowded by the door, waiting for the first cohort of men to exit, Dean’s pinky finger curled around his own, giving it a squeeze. The gesture was reassuring and Castiel found himself looking over his shoulder to smile at Dean, who winked back and smirked.

It was hard to imagine going in there now with the levels of fear he typically did. As they filed into the room, Castiel felt like it might not be so bad today. Everyone had their own milkers today, meaning Meg would be with Dean and the new girl would be with Cas. Perhaps she would be kinder, hopefully she’d keep her mouth to herself—

Castiel walked past her as she leaned down to fiddle with the wheel of her cart that was stuck. He was fairly good about just stepping into the restraints now, not bothering to fight it. Resistance only caused trouble and—

The girl stood as he raised his hands over his head and she turned to face him.

Daphne stared at Castiel, her eyes widening. 

Castiel’s stomach felt like it dropped out of his body and he instantly felt light headed. 

His day immediately became one of the worst days he’d experienced since he’d been hosed down with freezing water, Garth got murdered in cold blood, and worse than his three days in solitary. Worse than puking his guts out through the night and worse than being dragged out of his apartment by four men with guns and batons.

Daphne went white, her blue eyes round and shining, her mouth dropped open. Castiel imagined he looked just as white, his face tingling as blood rushed out of it. 

“Casi?” she breathed, standing so still he was momentarily worried she’d pass out and topple over. Then he remembered she was a traitorous cunt who’d given him up for money and he suddenly wish she’d topple over so he wouldn’t have to stare at her anymore.

“You gotta remember to get his legs this time, D,” Meg said boredly, rolling over to Daphne’s station once she noticed Daph hadn’t done anything. “You forgot with the last guy. Don’t do that, you can’t forget. They squirm if you don’t. You just barely managed to catch the guy’s samples and honestly—” Meg crossed in front of Daphne, reaching up to click the restraints around Cas’ limp wrists. “—getting six samples worth of spunk from under your nails is a real bitch.”

Meg’s nonsensical blathering didn’t affect either him or Daphne, they just continued to stare at each other. The initial shock of seeing her again, after thinking he’d never see her for the rest of his life, began to fade and quickly replaced itself with deep, unwavering pain.

She was a milker now? How long had she worked here? How could she apply to work in a place like this when she knew that Castiel had been taken? Had she known he’d be here? The ache in his heart moved south to his stomach, making him feel so sick he felt dizzy. 

He’d told Dean he hated her, and he’d thought it was true, but the abrupt sting of tears in his eyes made him realise he still had feelings for her, even if the feelings were for a friend who’d turned her back on him.

“R-Right,” Daphne choked out, dropping quickly to her knees to click the restraints around his ankles. 

It was her job. She had to do it, but the knowing, that yet again, she was the one to put him here, and now to physically restrain him, only made Cas feel worse. He knew his face was screwing up, that his nose and eyes were probably turning red. He could feel his chin wobble a bit and his lips purse. He shut his eyes but it was futile, he could see her face behind his eyelids clear as day.

Hot, uncontrollable tears swelled and wet his lashes. He sniffed sharply, attempting weakly to hold himself together.

“Hey! Grace!” Meg barked. “Open your mouth and take the goddamn pill—”

He opened his eyes, his vision blurry. Still, he knew the drill. Daphne was standing in front of him holding a pill and water. The lump in his throat, thick and heavy, prevented him from swallowing properly. He didn’t open his mouth to receive the dosage, anxious that if he did, he would release a sob or choke on the medication.

He saw Meg lean over into his field of vision. She snorted.

“Weird. Grace hasn’t had a little cry in here since his first day,” she said snidely. Then with a mean little smirk, she looked at Castiel, shaking her head mockingly. “What’s up, Grace? Having a bad day? Did you have another meltdown and land yourself in the infirmary again?”

Daphne’s head turned sharply and she stared at Meg, who misread the look on her face and winked at Daphne. “Yeah, your cow has a few screws loose. Had to be sedated a few weeks ago ‘cause he had a panic attack. He’s constantly crying or sick. Like, all pukey and allergic to the bulking agents. Don’t know why we keep him around. We should get rid of him like we did with—”

“Meg!” One of the milkers beside Meg suddenly interrupted, looking aghast. They had stopped midway through lubing up their gloved palms to bark at her in warning. “Watch your mouth. That’s confidential.”

Meg closed her mouth with a click of her teeth and she nodded curtly, turning her eyes down and getting to work, snapping on gloves and grabbing her lube bottle with a snap.

The end of the exchange forced Castiel to look at Daphne again, his mouth trembling. 

She was looking at him with glossy eyes of her own, not crying, though her cheeks were red and her mouth opened and closed a few times like she didn’t know what to say.

Then, in a breath not loud enough for anyone else to hear over the slick sounds of the milking starting up, “Casi,” she repeated, her tone soft, but tight, “you gotta open up, baby.”

He really wished he hadn’t offered up his hands for restraining right away, because he wanted to bury his face in them and regress somewhere in his head where Daphne wasn’t calling him baby like she used to when she loved him.

Still, years of being with her made his mouth open on autopilot and he felt the tips of her cool fingers against his lips as she put the pill on his tongue. Her hands were so soft and gentle as she supported his chin and put the small cup of cloudy liquid in his mouth to help wash it down. He choked a bit, and a rivulet of water ran out of the corner of his mouth. One gloved finger wiped it away gently, making him want to scream.

Once the pill was swallowed, Castiel sniffed sharply again, feeling the crushing weight of heartache and anxiety settle in his chest. He inhaled sharply, feeling a sob bubble in his throat. He wanted to tell her to fuck off, to not touch him. He wanted to fight against the restraints, or spit at her as Dean did with Meg, or scream in anger. He didn’t want to cry, he wanted to be stronger, but suddenly he felt so broken, so betrayed, so defeated. 

“Cas?” Dean’s voice reached out to him through the fog. 

Suddenly, Castiel remembered; there was a place in his head where Daphne didn’t call him baby; it was in his bed, last night, with Dean. Dean, who cared about him, and wanted him to be happy and feel safe. Dean, who made him laugh and wiped his tears, who rubbed his back when he was sick all night. Dean who made himself ill to steal a heating pad for him when his body clenched and ached. And Dean, who was trying so hard to save them. Dean, who was gonna be there for him when the milking felt good, who was the one thing to ground him to a place of hope and freedom, of comfort, of warmth.

When Daphne’s hands tugged his pants down gently and she took his penis in shaking hands, Cas turned his head and locked eyes with Dean, who was already looking, who was staring at him, green eyes glittering with concern under furrowed brows.

“You okay?” Dean began to ask, but Meg’s fist jutted up, punching him in the side. A hard groan forced itself between Dean’s teeth and he jolted up a bit. But even despite this, he ignored Meg and turned to look at Castiel again. Cas could feel Dean taking inventory of the tears in his eyes, the redness around his nose, and the trembling of his lips.

He heard Dean’s soft, teasing comment from last night in his head. _“Cas. What’s up? You’ve got that face where you’re chin is going all wobbly, and your eyes go all pretty and bright. It makes me feel like an asshole because you look real nice so I kinda appreciate it, but clearly you’re just trying not to cry.”_

To answer Dean’s question of whether he was okay, Castiel nodded, finding comfort in the green eyes, and the smattering of freckles over Dean’s nose and cheeks. He settled in the warmth of the smile Dean flashed him, and mimicked the way Dean rested his face against his arm and locked eyes, as if saying, “I’ve got you, I’m right here”.

He needed the support today. Not only did the first two or three orgasms feel good, normally, but Daphne had years of experience with Cas and she knew exactly what she was doing, even though her hands shook. She knew what he liked, how he wanted to be touched, which pressure to use to bring him pleasure. It was infuriating in this moment, and if he felt like his body had been betraying him before, he certainly felt that a hundred times worse now, because if he didn’t have that brown pill in his system right now, there was no force strong enough in this world to get him hard for Daphne.

Still, pleasure built up low in his belly and his breath picked up against his will. He swallowed hard as warmth and dull tingling curled between his legs, causing a tightening in his balls and a building of pressure at the base of his cock.

Dean’s eyes fluttered and he dragged his teeth across his bottom lip. At no point, though, did he look away. As gloved hands stroked them, lube warm against their skin, the men locked eyes, breath hitching as the other came.

Daphne was _almost_ forgotten, when Dean had his first orgasm, his face going red for a moment, his lips parting as he sucked in a breath. Last night had been dark, and while Castiel had watched Dean come, it hadn’t afforded as good as a view as he had now, their faces turned towards each other, their gazes unmoving as they came. 

Meg continued to pump at Dean, but Daphne, like Meg had done with Castiel, stopped to give him a break. He knew she wanted him to look at her, to make eye contact, but he couldn’t give it to her. This wasn’t the Daph and Cas show anymore; she’d broken any bond they’d had, he didn’t owe her anything; not love, not forgiveness, not piece of mind, not a single fleeting glance. 

“You can just keep going, you don’t have to give him a break, Daph. The pill keeps ‘em going,” Meg said lazily, tugging at Dean’s cock with a lack of finesse that Castiel knew she was doing on purpose. 

From his peripherals, Castiel felt Daphne staring at him. He, unfortunately, knew her too well. He knew exactly what she looked like, he knew the exact look of desperation on her face. She wanted him to look at her so badly.

Meg glanced over at her and reached out, tapping Daph on the shoulder. “Hey. Earth to Daphne? You have five more samples to get. Hurry up, we get to go on break after this round.”

Dean’s eyes widened as the new girl suddenly was given a name. Castiel’s heart gave a squeeze as Dean’s face filtered through a range of emotions. He looked shocked, his green eyes finally leaving Cas’ face to stare at Daphne. It obviously clicked in his mind why Cas was so upset, why couldn’t look at her, why he desperately needed Dean to distract him. 

Dean’s throat worked as he stared at her, and then his expression changed to one of anger, his eyes narrowing at her, jaw clenching when she put her hands on Cas again. 

Accompanying the unwelcome feeling of pleasure, was a gasp from Cas’ lips, his breath hitching in his throat. Fresh tears surged up his sinuses, settling on his stinging lash line. 

When Dean’s gaze resettled on Cas’ face, his eyes softened. The handsome face smoothed into an expression of support, Dean’s lip twitching into a soft smile until his second orgasm was pulled from him. Cas came at the same time, his forehead pressing against his arm, hating Daphne for knowing how to make him come so quickly, and begrudgingly accepting that she was doing it on purpose, trying to get this over for him faster than usual.

Dean was right; when the pleasure coursed through him, as long as green eyes locked with blue, the shame was less, the anger was weakened, and Castiel did feel like he could survive this. He could survive Daphne if Dean was there.

“It’s okay, Cas. I’m here,” Dean managed to whisper before Meg socked him in the ribs this time.

The pain of his fourth orgasm came shortly after and eventually, Castiel torn his eyes from Dean. When he felt the dull, deep ache between his legs start to build, he looked away, not wanting to taint anything to do with Dean. 

Instead, he turned his eyes to Daphne, who had become the embodiment of pain and shame.

To his surprise, she was watching Dean while she stroked Castiel, her face looking defeated, her mouth open and eyes open in realization. When she looked back towards Castiel, she stared up at him with the air of someone who was broken, and sorry, and wanted forgiveness. She also looked quickly over at Dean before returning her gaze onto Castiel, and suddenly Cas realised that she knew. She knew what just transpired between him and Dean. She’d put the pieces of the puzzle together, noticed the meaningful holding of their gaze. 

She knew about them.

Her chin crumpled and she lowered her gaze, her shining blue eyes averted, staring sadly at her hands as she worked, looking far away and distracted. 

A ridiculous part of him felt guilty for her pain, for replacing her in his heart so quickly. But then again, they hadn’t been in love for months, if not a year. And, oh, yes, she’d sold him out to the government for money. Dean wouldn’t sell him out for anything. When he and Dean got out, they’d leave this shitty state and go to California, and forget all about her betrayal and The Facility. Their time here and Daphne would be nothing but a sore memory that would one day fade…

Or, that was the logic he was trying to use to diffuse the hammering in his chest. He wanted to listen to the logic, but first, he needed to get away from her and out of her hands, because his emotions were shaking through him uncontrollably and he was going to scream if she didn’t let him go.

Eventually, everyone deposited their sixth sample and the restraints were undone. For some fucking reason, Daphne was taking her sweet time, fumbling over the locks with trembling fingers when all Cas wanted to do was run. Dean was looking back at him, his eyes wide and worried as they started to file out without him.

“You need help, Daph?” Meg asked lazily, gathering her samples. “It’s break time. It’s pot luck day today, I think. I mean, I never bring anything but Kaitlyn makes wicked good lasagne that—”

“I’ll catch up, I still have to label,” Daphne said quickly, obviously wanting Meg to shut up and go. “I’m just gonna let him go and then meet you.”

Meg seemed peeved at being interrupted, but she rolled her eyes and nodding, following the depositors and the milkers out of the room. Dumah lingered by the doorway, out in the hallway, watching.

Castiel trembled in his restraints, barely holding himself together, his mouth trembling, his eyes stinging, and his face growing hot.

The scent of lilacs and peonies wafted up his nose as Daphne stood too closely, reaching up to undo his hands. Taking advantage of the closeness, she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Casi, baby. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I-I didn’t know you were here. I—”

Castiel broke down, crying openly, a small hitched hiccup catching in his throat as he shook his head. Strained, he choked out, “I don’t love you. I don’t love you, get away from me.”

Her eyes got wide, but she stepped back abruptly when the cuffs snapped open. Castiel wrenched his hands down, rubbing at his wrists for a second before he slid his fingers over his face and buried them in his hair, trying to catch a breath. Daphne’s hands shook so hard when she undid the ankle restraints that they tinkered loudly.

“Don’t touch me,” Cas rasped, jerking his hands away when he felt her cool fingers on his wrists. He opened his eyes, damp lashes pulling apart, only to see her holding back tears of her own and presenting him with a pill.

Gulping down shuddering breaths, Castiel took it from her and swallowed quickly, coughing a bit as he choked on it, but shoved away the small glass of water she offered him, side stepping her and walking out of the room before she had a chance to call him “baby” again.

Dumah stepped into the room and he heard her speak to Daphne in hushed tones, as his cohort carried on with their journey back towards their cells. Hannah, who took the end of the line, nudged Castiel in the ribs with her gun.

“Cut the hysterics, Grace, or I’ll take you to the infirmary for some more sedatives,” she warned quietly.

To his surprise, Dean sidled up to Cas and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. Hannah looked aghast, raising her gun to jut into Dean’s ribs—a gesture they were all too familiar with from the guards. 

“If you hit me with that right now, you’re fuckin’ heartless,” Dean hissed at her, glaring over his shoulder. “Don’t you fuckers have some kind of vetting system? A background check?”

“The hell are you talking about, Winchester?” Hannah demanded, eyes narrowing. She lowered her gun.

Cas wanted Dean to shut up, because he knew Dean was fueled with righteous anger and was bound to say something stupid that would get them in trouble.

“It’s hard enough that we got sadomasochists torturing us through those fuckin’ deposits, but you make Cas have to take it from his ex-girlfriend? Do you have no fucking decency? What the fuck is wrong with you people? How deep does your depravity go?”

It was so much worse coming from Dean’s mouth, and Cas found his face scrunching up, tears sliding down his face, and he raised a hand to press over his mouth. He felt fucking pathetic, but the pieces of his broken heart were cutting at his insides, leaving him aching.

To his surprise, Hannah didn’t hit them.

“Shut your mouth and turn around, Winchester.”

The entire way back to their bunk, Castiel made no noise but a few sniffles, eyes downturned, avoiding Dean’s watchful eye. He knew as soon as Dean asked him if he was okay, the dam would break.

As expected, as soon as Hannah slammed the cell door shut behind them, Cas made a break for the bathroom, and Dean was at his tail. As soon as Dean shut the door behind them and turned around, Castiel crashed into him, throwing his arms around Dean’s shoulders, burying the lower half of his face in the soft material of Dean’s shirt, pressing his mouth against the soft skin where Dean’s neck met his shoulder. Dean threw his arms around Cas right back, holding him so tightly. He wept against Dean’s skin, inhaling in gasps, his shoulders wracked with tremors.

Dean raised a hand to Cas’ hair, stroking it, carding his fingers through the soft locks, murmuring words of comfort he wasn’t even monitoring. He just spoke, hoping something made Cas feel better, and that something would calm the gulps for air and sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep.

“I’m sorry that she’s here, Cas,” Dean whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Cas shifted against his neck, resting his chin on the wet patch he’d made on his shirt. After a few shuddering breath that rattled out of his trembling lips, Cas whispered tightly, “I can’t look at her every day. I can’t let her touch me like that every day, twice a day. I-I can’t. I hate her. I _hate_ her.”

Dean’s fingers slid down the back of Cas’ head, his fingers massaging circles into the nap of his neck. “Cas—”

Another wrenching sob silenced Dean, and Cas rasped, his teeth chattering, “I can’t stand this place anymore, Dean. I have to get out. I can’t f-fucking stand it anymore. I’m not going to last. I—”

Dean pulled back, holding Cas’ hot, wet face in his palms, giving him a shake. “Hey, don’t talk like that. We’re getting out. You’re gonna last.”

Against his red, patchy face, shining in stress-sweat and tears down his face, Cas’ blue eyes looked blown open, the irises electric, the azure flecked with aquamarine. Dean met the gaze and held it, licking his lips, his jaw set.

“Look at me,” he murmured, a growl rumbling in his throat. His hands stay firmly on Cas’ face. “I’m going to talk to Sam again. And then, with or without him, we’re getting out. We’re not staying here another week, Cas. You’ll never have to look at Daphne again after this week, d’you understand? I am not leaving you.”

Cas’s breaths were loud in the small room.

“Call Sam,” Cas uttered shakily, nodding under Dean’s palms. “Whatever you’re planning, I’m in. We have to get out of here.” 


	11. Slaughterhouse

He was going to be shot for this. 

Dean stumbled, his back hitting the wall of the corridor Hannah had been walking him down. Her helmet rolled across the floor, and her gun in his hands shook, the strap tapping him in the knee as it swung. Dean stared down at Hannah’s body on the floor, her chest rising and falling slowly, her brown hair spilled across the floor. She was unconscious, but not dead, thank God… or was it a good thing? She’d wake and she’d know it was him that attacked her from behind, she’d know he was the one who’d knocked off her helmet, jabbed her in the neck with a toothbrush to get her to turn around, and then slammed her face against the wall. Wincing, he leaned down and pressed at the red bump on her temple, jerking his hand back when she moaned but didn’t wake.

“Sorry, Hannah,” he murmured, only feeling half-sorry. Out of all the guards, she was the least aggressive. She was mean like the rest of them, but her insults definitely lacked bite. 

She’d been the one to get Daphne transferred, they realised that morning, when Cas showed up at the dairy farm to find a new milker sitting on the stool at his usual station. 

Hannah had been the one to buy his lie when he said he was dizzy and needed to go to the infirmary. Any other guard would have told him to suck it up, but the worst thing she’d done was roll her eyes at him, and mock him for being a baby.

He was totally going to get shot for this. 

Dean grasped her gun, turning it in his hand. It certainly wasn’t the old school shotgun that Bobby had in his house, but the idea was the same, he figured. Swallowing down the nerves that prompted bile to rise in his throat, Dean ran down the corridor towards the administrative offices. 

“Authorized Personnel Only”, it said above the door. Dean raised the keycard he’d stolen from Hannah, and tapped the sensor beside the door. 

As the doors slid apart, Dean held his breath, hoping he wouldn't find guards standing there. It was a bad gamble to make, but he was desperate. He wanted out. He wanted to get Cas out too. 

Luckily, it was night time and the administrative staff seemed to be off. He stepped into the offices, ducking behind a cubicle to gather himself and catch his breath. 

He needed to find out where they were, and then he needed to find a phone. Thankfully, the office lacked a lot of things—personality, feeling, any kind of personal pictures on the desks—but it did not lack phones. 

Punching in the number to reach Sam was tricky as his fingers trembled, but once it began ringing, Dean ducked down under the desk, shuffling back on his butt, until he was mostly under the shelter of the desk.

It only rang twice. 

“Hello?”

“Sam,” Dean whispered. “Sam, please tell me you found something.”

Sam’s voice sounded far away, like he’d held the phone far from his face. “Track it…” then he was back, loud and clear. “Dean, hey. Listen, we think we found you. We’re just gonna track this call to confirm an approximate location.”

A small breath wooshed in through the tiny part of Dean’s lips and he was scared, for a moment, that he’d burst out into tears on the phone. Fortunately, he held himself together and breathed, “Thank fuck, Sam. ‘Cause I dunno how long I’m gonna be able to last in here. It’s getting bad.”

“We found Inias,” Sam said.

Dean sat up, accidentally bashing his head on the desk. “Ow, fuck! I mean, dude, that’s amazing. What did he say?”

“Nothing.” Sam’s voice was grim. “We didn’t necessarily find him, so much as we found his parts of him, Dean. They found his body parts washed up on shore of the Missouri River. It’s been on the news, Dean. Black bags just started washing up all over the place, but mostly on the banks of Santee Sioux Recreational Park.”

“What?”

“He was cut up, Dean. And get this; in his pocket? A bus ticket. Unstamped, uncut. He never got on a bus, Dean. And what’s worse? There was no receipt for the purchase of the ticket because it was fake.”

Dean almost didn’t hear Sam’s words, his ears overwhelmed by the rushing of blood in his ears.

“I’m gonna die here,” Dean murmured. 

“No, Dean. I told you; I think we found you. We’ve got means.”

Some feeling was beginning to return to Dean’s face, after it had paled, draining him of colour and making the bile in his empty stomach churn. 

“How—”

Sam went on; “I’ve got an informant, Dean. Someone on the inside.”

“What?” His mouth went instantly dry. “Inside here? The Facility?”

“Yup,” Sam replied. “Ash has connections on the dark web. There’s an informant that’s been leaking information about all these reproduction sample factories around SD, posting it for anyone to see who could help. The informant is anonymous; they drop random tips about pieces of information they gather. We don’t know who they are, but we put out an inquiry about you and they said they know you. They’ve gotta be in your plant, Dean. So we’re waiting to hear back from them.”

Dean was speechless. The very idea that someone with clearance in this place was trying to help them seemed far-fetched. Every single person seemed completely fucked in the head and cold. To know a friend was lurking among the vulture and wolves... 

“Dean?”

“I’m here.”

“The informant goes by ‘Fallen’. Any idea who that might be?”

Dean felt dizzy, tearing through all of his memories from the last few weeks, but coming up with nothing. “I have no idea,” he admitted recently. 

“Damn. If you knew, we could set up some kind of meeting, but without knowledge of who they are, it’ll be difficult to...Dean, you okay?”

Tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes and Dean hiccuped. He nodded, then remembered he was on the phone and he croaked, “Fine. Fine. I’m just...overwhelmed. I can’t believe there's someone in here trying to get us out.”

“They’re working on it. Apparently, they can’t risk exposure. Not until it’s time.” Sam inhaled deeply, releasing the breath slowly afterwards. “The information they’re leaking is invaluable, Dean. They’re saying the government knew the virus would spread in the States. They even think the virus might’ve been purposefully leaked.”

“Why the fuck would they ever do that?”

“To create a situation where they had to shut down the borders and collect these samples. It’s about money; create a demand for product, then ship it out and charge each other crazy money for the goods… Anyway, Dean, Fallen is gonna send us your location tonight, and they’re gonna spill every name of every executive on the board of whatever Facility you’re at.”

Something nagged him at the back of his mind. "Sam, the government… how could they have known the virus would hit South Dakota?"

“They didn't, Dean. These facilities exist all over the states. They've just been dormant until now, waiting to see which state developed a hot spot. They've been planning this for a while. The state leaders...they all know what's up. I mean, the federal government, the fucking White House. "

Dean raised his hands to his eyes, pressing the tips against his lids and he inhaled shakily. “This is too big. This is bigger than us.”

“Don’t worry about that, Dean. We're gonna save you. You won’t be in there much longer.”

Wiping at his cheeks, Dean swallowed the thickness in his throat, and drew in air through the tiny pinhole of his lips. “And Cas, Sam. You gotta get Cas out too.”

“Your friend?”

“He’s more than a friend, Sam. I..can’t leave here without him. I couldn’t leave here without him.”

“More than a friend, like a brother?” Sam asked, teasing. “Or more more than a friend, like a boyfriend?”

“He’s definitely not a brother. Gross.”

On the other end of the line, Dean could practically hear Sam smile. “I’m excited to meet Cas, then. Keep him close, keep him safe. We’re gonna get you guys out. Give us a few days.”

There was a buzzer sound and the terrifying noise of a door opening. Hurried footsteps clicked over the floor, dulled by the ugly grey carpet.

“They found Hannah on the floor,” a voice said. Yanking the phone away from his ear, Dean quickly pressed it to his chest and held his breath.

“Is she conscious?”

Naomi.

“Yes, but—”

The footsteps got closer and Dean pulled his legs up to his chest, praying they wouldn’t pass him or take interest in a random cubicle by the door.

“Do we have any reason to believe the ‘Hack3r’ is responsible for this? Have you questioned Hannah?”

“She was taken to the infirmary, but we were waiting for you. You said if we suspect Hunters’ activity that we get you first—”

Sam’s voice was muffled on the other end of the line. The receiver felt like it was digging into Dean’s chest as he pushed it harder against his shirt.

Luckily, there was another buzz of a second door opening and closing. Dean saw Naomi and her companion’s shadows over his feet as they opened and closed the next set of security doors, taking them out to where Dean had left Hannah knocked out in the hallway.

He snapped the phone back up to his ear. “I gotta go, Sammy.”

“What… uh, okay. Love you, Dean.”

“Same, little brother.”

Dean crawled out from under the desk and hung up the phone. Then, he cautiously got to his feet, his eyes darting around over the top of the cubicle, his heart pounding. It beat so hard he felt it thrum against his chest and wondered if he could see it through his shirt. 

They could come back at any minute.

Carefully, partially-ducked, Dean crept over to the door and peered through the glass. He saw Naomi and Dumah turn the corner, disappearing from sight. After counting to a minute, Dean released himself from the offices, sliding back into the sterile white hallway. He tossed the keycard aside—they’d deactivate it as soon as they realised it was missing, for sure.

His feet picked up their pace as anxiety crawled up his spine, digging its claws into his back and curling it’s meaty palm around his heart, pumping it faster. He was out of his cell unaccompanied. It wasn’t looking good. He, as usual, hadn’t really thought this out too much.

And of course, nothing really went his way. 

He’d been so close, so close to the mess hall, where he could slip in and receive only a minor punishment for breaking away from the others, but around a corner he ran headlong into Rachel.

He got knocked on his ass, sprawled across the ground, his back hitting the hard, white wall of the corridor.

Towering over him, and staring down her assault rifle at him, Rachel raised her walkie to her mouth and said clearly, “Rachel for Dumah. Got eyes on Winchester. Found him in Corridor 6, just outside the mess hall. Over.”

“Go for Rachel. 10-4 on the Winchester front. Bring him to the infirmary. Over.”

Rachel’s walkie got clipped back onto her chest. She jerked her weapon up and said carefully, “You’re going to get up, and follow instructions.”

Damn right he was going to follow instructions, because her finger was on the trigger and if he understood that conversation right, they’d been looking for him.

***

For a person wearing no armour and wasn’t using a weapon, Naomi sure was frightening anyway. Her backhand was strong and her grip on Dean’s hair as she slammed his face down onto the metal desk was so vicious he felt clumps of hair get ripped out and warm blood trickling down his neck.

She and Dumah interrogated him for nearly an hour. They’d watched surveillance footage, finding out who attacked Hannah, and they checked the cameras in the office. They’d seen Dean on the phone, and they wanted to find out, desperately, who he’d been talking to. After violence got their nowhere, the doctor from the infirmary came in with a big ol’ needle, and that’s when Dean panicked.

He leaned away from the doctor’s touch and pleaded with them, but the needle slid into his neck and the syringe was emptied into his body. With a truth serum in his body, he thought all was lost; they’d ask about the phone call, about what they talked about, they’d ask about their escape…

But to his surprise, Naomi asked him who the Hunters were, and if he knew the identities of H4cker and Moose. Dean blinked at her, feeling fuzzy, and admitted he didn’t She asked him who he called, and when he replied with “my brother”, she didn’t probe. Through the questioning, he got more confused, unsure about what she was talking about; she was asking him about vigilante groups, and the dark web. She asked him about his affiliation to rebel organizations, and asked if he knew about security or data breaches, and seemed annoyed when he knew nothing.

At the end, after shoving Dean’s head down against the table again, she whispered to Dumah, “I thought he’d be involved for sure.”

They threw him into solitary afterwards, satisfied that he wasn’t part of some organization they were tracking. 

Solitary was absolute torture, but it was better than death. 

***

When they released him, they didn’t bring him back to his cell. 

Rather, Dumah accompanied him over to Iniasʼ old cell. Alfie perked up on the bed, his eyes wide as Dean was shoved into the cold, small space.

“No,” Dean begged, turning around and crowding the door as Dumah shut it behind him. When he spoke out through the bars, Dumah backtracked, staring at him through hooded, bored eyes. 

“No,” Dean repeated. “Take me back to my cell.”

Her smile made his skin crawl. 

“You are in your cell.” 

Dean’s hands slid against the door, flexing helplessly. “No, this isn’t my bunk. I’m with Cas.”

Dumah turned to him completely, her cruel smile meeting her eyes. She was loving this. “Yeah, you’re _with_ Cas. We’re aware, which is why you’re to be separated. If you believed your shenanigans yesterday would go unpunished, you were mistaken.” 

Immediately, Dean’s heart started to slam against his chest. “I-I served my time in solitary confinement. Just, please, Dumah…”

“Why don’t you call your brother and cry about it?” Dumah snorted. 

She walked away from him, leaving Dean staring at her armoured back through the bars.

“Hey Dean,” Alfie said slowly, sounding nervous. Dean pressed his head against the door, feeling his chest tighten and eyes sting. Behind him, Alfie’s steps were slow, shuffling over the hard floor. “I ain’t so bad to room with. I don’t snore or anything. I...I mean I know you and Cas are, uh, close, but you’ll see him at lunch and dinner. It’ll be fine. It—”

“I don’t wanna talk.” Dean swallowed loudly, shifting his forehead against the metal.

“Oh...okay.”

Dean looked up, hearing Alfie climb up onto his bed, and he stared out through the bars in the direction of Cas’ cell. He wondered if Cas was alone, if Cas knew Dean’d been moved. He wondered if he had a new roommate. He wondered if they’d still be in the same dairy farm group, or if they’d also be separated at lunch. 

This was their greatest fear, to be separated. 

This was a nightmare.

***

They did not separate them at lunch. That, it seemed, was the one and only consolation.

The one and only. Everything else that followed their separation only furthered their nightmare.

“They came and took all your things,” Cas explained in a hushed voice from across the table. His blue eyes were wide, surrounded by white, the blue clear as crystal as Cas’ eyes shone with fear. His fork hovered between his mouth and plate, just in case a guard passed and he had to look busy. Dean watched Cas’ Adam’s apple bob and his eyes search his face. Dean’s throat seemed to constrict further and further, the more frightened that Cas looked. 

“They took all your things and wouldn’t tell me why,” Cas whispered. “I thought they’d killed you, or moved you to another floor. I thought I’d never see you again.”

Under the table, Dean ran his foot up the side of Cas leg, hoping it would instill calm. 

“I’m okay,” Dean said, flashing a tight smile that nearly hurt the muscles in his face to make. “I’m okay, Cas. I’m fine.”

“I’m not,” Cas replied quickly, his mouth pressing into a thin line as he seemed to gather his bearings. He glanced down at his plate, then looked back up at Dean. “Something’s wrong with me. They came to my cell yesterday morning and took some blood. They said my virility has taken a dive. They made me drink some really disgusting concoction. It made me pretty sick all night yesterday, but they said they’re going to test me again today to see if it helped. If not…”

They stared at each other. Dean felt like he was drowning. Everything was falling apart.

“Maybe they’ll let you go,” Alfie said, from beside Cas. The boy nudged him with his shoulder and offered a supportive smile. “Maybe they’ll let you go and enter you into the lottery. Like they did with Inias.”

Dean and Cas paled instantly. Before Alfie had sat down earlier, Dean had told Cas what Sam had said over the phone. 

“Yes,” Cas said grimly, eyes unblinking as they held Dean’s gaze, “perhaps I’ll receive the same fate as Inias.”

Dean set down his fork and picked up his glass quickly, needing something to do before tears got the better of him. His chest was a mess of anxiety since the morning, and his hands were on the brink of shaking. Being separated from Cas was the first straw to break the camel’s back, but the idea that Cas would be taken from The Facility completely and be dismembered like Inias… That was a nightmare to top all nightmares. Dean felt sick.

“No,” Dean murmured, lowering his glass. “You won’t get released.”

“No,” Cas agreed, snorting bitterly. “No, I won’t—not yet. Naomi will be supervising my deposit herself to see if there have been any improvements.”

“Ew,” Alfie whispered, making a sour face.

Cas scowled. “That’s not what I mean. She’ll be watching, and testing the sample herself. That’s what she said.”

“Personally?” Alfie’s brow curled. He seemed puzzled. “Why?” 

Dean and Cas exchanged tired looks. “Because she hates me,” Cas grumbled.

“No,” Dean interrupted. His stomach dropped. “It’s because she hates _me._ ”

***

It didn’t make any sense. There was no reason Cas’ virility would be low. Sure, they’d all be tortured to all hell and stress levels were essentially as bad as they could get, but that applied to everyone. Both Dean and Cas knew that this was Naomi’s way to get back at Dean. 

If there was any question as to that, it was answered during the deposit the next day.

Daphne had been replaced with someone else, some new girl that lacked any finesse or enthusiasm, but that was the least of their concerns. Dean watched Cas sweat under Naomi’s cold gaze, her eyes locked on his as his deposits were taken. Everyone was on edge—more so than usual, with her presence in the room, even though she didn’t pay attention to anyone other than Cas. Or Dean, for that matter.

The only time she stopped observing Cas was to look over at Dean and smirk.

Rage coursed through Dean’s body, everything else forgotten even as he hung from restraints and Meg’s hands roughed him up as per usual. He hated Naomi, and he made sure she knew it with his lip curled and eyes hooded as they locked eyes. Dean bared his teeth as a sample was taken from him. Naomi winked.

Bitch.

Once the last round of samples was taken, and the tension in the cold, white room was at an all-time high, Naomi stepped up to Cas’ milker and she held out her hands.

“I’ll take the samples to the lab,” she said promptly. As she received the tray, she looked Cas right in the eye and said, “Let’s hope these samples are of value, Grace. Or you may not have a place here at The Facility anymore.”

“There’s no reason I should not be of use here,” Cas ground through his teeth. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his face. Dean felt a jolt of pride as Cas lifted his chin at Naomi defiantly. “If you find a dip in virility, then perhaps your science is flawed, and not my sample.”

“Your confidence is foolish.” Naomi turned from Cas and swept out of the room. 

Once the door shut behind her, the milkers all began taking down the prisoners. Dean looked over at Cas, hoping to catch his eye and exude some support, but Cas was staring after Naomi, his face set defiantly, but his eyes shining.

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean whispered.

He knew Cas heard because his eyelids fluttered, but Cas’ head bowed and his chin shuddered for a moment.

“Nothing is okay,” Cas whispered. “I’ll be dead by the end of the week.”

***

Where the fuck was Sam?

Where the _fuck_ was Sam?

Everything was falling apart.

It hadn’t even been a full day since Naomi had taken her samples from Cas, but by the next morning, partway through breakfast, it seemed she’d gotten her results and made her decision.

“They’re all looking at me,” Cas breathed, lowering his fork to his plate, his face white. Dean looked up from his forkful of limp cooked spinach, and he felt his entire face go numb as he followed Cas’ gaze to find a group of guards huddled by Naomi. They were all staring over at Cas. 

One guard patted Hannah on the shoulder and smirked, nodding over at Cas. Naomi said something with a devious smile, then Hannah snapped down her helmet and turned away from the group. She held her gun in her hands, and her boots clunked down over the hard floor as she approached their table.

“Incoming,” Alfie whispered, though it was unnecessary. Everyone seated around them had heard Cas and were staring at Hannah.

“Grace,” Hannah said firmly, nodding at Cas. “You’re free to go.”

Cas shook his head. “No. I want to stay.”

While everyone around him broke out into murmurs, and even disbelieving barks of laughter, Dean and Alfie stared at Cas in shock. Cas’ face was hard, his eyes flashing. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Cas said. “My samples are fine. They’re fine, there’s no reason to—”

“You’ve been tested,” Hannah replied in a snap, her hands shifting around the gun. “Don’t make this difficult, Grace. You’ve been granted pardon, take what you get and be grateful. Now get up. We have your things, you’re getting a bus ticket and—”

Cas and Dean stared at each other. Cas hands began to shake on the table and Dean felt himself choke up, fear gripping him entirely. He almost felt like he was floating above them, separated from his body, watching this horror show from above.

“No,” Cas breathed. “No, please. I-I want to stay. I don’t want a...a bus ticket.”

Hannah’s hand snapped out and she grabbed Cas by the elbow, yanking him up to his feet. “This isn’t a hotel, Grace. Get. Up.”

“Go on, Cas!” a prisoner from down the line said happily. “You’re free, bud!”

There was a flurry of movement as Hannah tugged on Cas, pulling him up and back over the bench. On autopilot, fuelled by desperation and panic, Dean lunged across the table and grabbed Cas’ hand that was already outstretched towards him. Their fingers intertwined and grasped desperately.

“No,” Dean moaned. “No, no, please—”

Cas hauled himself out of Hannahs grip, his eyes shining, his other hand reaching out for Dean, his fingers grazing his face. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas choked out. “Dean, I’m sorry. I lov—” 

As Dean rose out from his chair, reaching out for Cas with his other hand, Dumah came around behind him, yanking him back down into his chair by a chokehold, her elbow pressing back against his windpipe. On the other side of the table, more guards helped Hannah grab Cas and dragged him away.

Cas and Dean’s hands broke away from each other, fingers flexing for each other as they were separated.

Dean lost the fight in him as Cas was pulled away, Hannah settling her grip on him as other guards helped guide Cas by muzzles of three rifles pressed to his back.

This was all wrong. Cas was supposed to escape with Dean. They were supposed to have been out by now.

Tears dripped down Dean’s face as Cas disappeared with his armed escort. His stomach felt hollow, and his vision tunnelled.

Where the fuck was Sam?

***

It wasn’t in Dean’s nature to give up, or to despair. Not for too long. 

A few tears had escaped down his face when they’d taken Cas, but as far as Dean was concerned, if Cas was gone, and if Cas was going to die, then what the fuck was the point of escaping? 

Might as well go out with a bang.

The guards really had no need to smack him in the back of the head with the butts of their guns or shove his face down towards his foot, with snarled orders to calm down and eat. He was calm. He would eat.

He finished everything on his plate, and he ignored Alfie’s constant pestering, asking him if he was alright, and trying to assure him that Cas was the lucky one to be freed ahead of schedule.

But ignoring could only go so far. When Alfie nudged him for the fifth time as lunch came to a close, Dean raised his head.

Calmly, carefully, but loudly, Dean said, “Cas isn’t gonna catch a bus, Alfie. They’re gonna dismember him and throw his body parts in the river. He’s not gonna get outta here. None of us are gonna get out of here.”

Heads around them came up and the men fell silent.

Alfies lips twisted in confusion, his big innocent eyes widening under furrowed brows. “What’re you talkin’ about, Dean? He’s free, they’re gonna give him a bus ticket—”

Dean’s face was blank. He stared over Alfie shoulder as the soldiers began to notice the occupants of his long table stop to stare at him. Perhaps the guards noticed the look of confusion on their faces. 

“There’s no bus ticket, Alfie,” Dean droned, his loud voice flat. He’s had enough of this shit. If they were gonna kill Cas, they’d have to kill him too. “There’s no bus ticket for him. There wasn’t one for Inias either—”

“Winchester, what’s going on now?” Rachel snarled at him, beginning to make her way from the group of guards over to their table, her boots clapping down heavily towards them down the aisle.

Dean’s words picked up, coming out quicker, louder. Now the table over was listening. 

“They found Inias’ dismembered body parts in a river nearby. They found a fucking fake bus ticket in his pocket.” Dean got to his feet, eyes boring into Alfie’s, whose lost all innocence and were wide with hopelessness. “No one is getting out.”

Dean looked around, and he announced loud enough for everyone to hear. “I got a connection on the outside. I got someone passing me information.”

“WINCHESTER!” Rachel raised her gun.

Dean turned to her, met her eye, and snarled, “No one is getting freed, we’re all just gonna get used up and tossed aside. There is no bus, no outside, no free world. Cas and Inias are fucking dead and we’re all gonna be dead too. No one really knows where we are, but the government has been in on this virus spreading before it even hit us. This has been planned, these people were employed probably before the virus even—”

“GET DOWN AND SHUT UP—”

“You’re not gonna see your moms or dads or kids or wives or husbands!” Dean cried over the growing murmurs and cries of protests. People were panicking, exchanging looks. They knew he was usually full of shit, but with Cas gone...everyone knew he was telling the truth. 

Rachel knocked off her safety and raised her gun.

“This,” Dean yelled, his face hot, “is not a dairy farm, it’s a slaughter house.”

Suddenly, two gunshot went off just as the lights all went out. 


	12. Moose Attack

The hollow _beeeeeuuwww_ of the power going out threw the room into chaos, with roars of anger and confusion filling the room. People screamed and there was the clinking of forks hitting plates, and the scraping of the benches being pushed out and back, clattering to the floor. A gunshot sounded in the hall.

While his ears rung from the close gunshot, Dean was filled with adrenaline as he realised he hadn’t been shot. 

The emergency lights—red and swirling—came on, spinning through the cafeteria. Dean nearly stumbled back as the people on either side of him rose to their feet too and kicked back the bench. He noticed, with glee, that the guards looked confused, staring around at the lights in panic. This hadn’t been planned, they didn’t know what the hell had happened either. 

“There’s more of us than there is of them!” Dean roared. “Fuck ‘em up, let’s get out of here!”

Cas would have groaned at Dean’s recklessness. He might have even called him some fancy name like “insouciant” for his impulsive, batshit crazy instinct to cause mayhem. But fuck it, what else did he have to live for? For all he knew, Sam had already tried to get them out and died trying. 

Everything felt hopeless.

...Except for the absolute riot he’d just flared up with the men of his floor. He looked around to see prisoners launching plates at the guards, and lunging at them with butter knives. The guards were shooting out at the crowd, but only intermittently, as they ducked to avoid objects being thrown at them.

Dean looked down and saw Rachel lying on her back, coughing up blood. It poured over her chin and dribbled down the side of her face. He saw a hole in her neck, and another through her shoulder. She’d been the one to be shot, he realised. Surprised, he looked around but no one was paying attention to him anymore. As a matter of fact, everyone was distracted. 

“EVERYONE REMAIN CALM. PRISONERS STAND DOWN. ANYONE FOUND REBELLING WILL BE—”

The P.A system crackled and the announcement was cut off. Dean tore through the riot, ducking to avoid swinging arms and the butts of guns that were swinging. He saw one man disarm a guard and turn the gun on them. There were screams from both sides as the prisoner started shooting at the guards.

Dean crawled under a table, noticing Alfie do the same. They headed towards the door, one forgotten hallway out, away from the riot. The two men reached the end of the tables and slid out, ducking a spray of gunfire from a guard. After they passed, their boots clomping down on spinach that’d been tossed onto the floor, Dean and Alfie got up.

Dean reached for the boy, who was shaking, tears streaming down his face. A fork was clenched in the boy’s fist like a weapon.

“W-W-What do we do!?” Alfie cried. 

Dean yanked him towards the doorway. “We head out this way—”

Hannah stepped into the doorway, blocking their path. She held her gun out at them. Alfie brandished his fork at her with vigor, though he sniffled and trembled.

Dean met eyes with her. If anyone was going to kill him, it would be her. He’d knocked her right the fuck out the other day and…

Hannah lowered her weapon and jerked her head out towards the crowd.

“Let’s go, Dean,” she said, reaching out and grabbing Dean by the sleeve. “We gotta go.”

The word “surprised” could not come close to how Dean felt as Hannah’s face lost all anger or distaste. Her eyes were wide, darting around for resistance, entirely alert for threats.

“What the fuck…?”

Hannah glanced over at Dean as she led him and Alfie down a side corridor. She swept her keycard through a scanner and led them into a hallway that said “Authorized Personnel only”. 

“I’ll explain later,” she said, her head darting around corners, peering into offices and examination rooms. “We have to go get C—”

“ATTENTION FACILITY SIX. THIS IS MOOSE, WITH THE SOUTH DAKOTA HUNTERS. WE ARE A VIGILANTE ORGANIZATION. WE ARE AN ANTI-REPRODUCTIVE PROGRAM, PEOPLE’S MILITIA AND WE’RE HERE TO FREE YOU. THE GOVERNMENT SET UP THIS FACILITY, AND OTHERS, TO FARM SPERM FOR INTER-STATE SALE. WHAT THEY ARE DOING HERE IS HIGHLY ILLEGAL AND IS A HUMAN RIGHTS VIOLATION OF THE MOST ALARMING DEGREE, BUT WE HAVE ALERTED THE UN HUMAN RIGHTS COMMISSION. HELP IS COMING. WE’RE GOING TO FREE YOU, AND WE’RE GOING TO HELP YOU.”

While Alfie was whispering to himself, confused, Dean felt like passing out with happiness.

It was Sam. Sam was here.

“That’s my brother,” Dean breathed, his knees weak, his legs stumbling beside Hannah of their own accord. If he’d been in charge of his legs, they’d crumple under him. 

Hannah snorted as she swiped her key-card again, jerking her head for them to pass through the doors. “I know,” she laughed. “I was the one who let him and his hunters in.”

Dean stared at the side of Hannah’s face, realization dawning on him. For some hysterical reason, he felt like crying. 

“You’re Fallen.”

Hannah smirked. “Present and accounted for.”

Dean’s eyes stung. “You’ve been feeding information to my brother.”

“I sure tried. Whatever information I could get without outing myself, yes. I had to hold a lot back until the last minute. Naomi releases specific information to each of us in her inner circle, so she can keep us accountable if anything leaks. I had to make sure I wasn’t the only person to know stuff before I leaked it. It’s harder said than done—” she let them through another door, “—‘cause she’s on top of it most of the time. I couldn’t even tell Sam where you were until a few days ago.”

“Wait, what’s going on?” Alfie asked, sounding breathless as he stumbled after them.

“I’ll explain more later,” Hannah said. “For now, we have to get Castiel and get you out of here. More help is coming, and it might get ugly. There’s a lot of confused people in here and that usually means a lot of panic and friendly fire.”

“They’ll kill you when they find out you helped,” Dean said, following Hannah down a flight of steps. 

Hannah stopped outside of a set of steel doors. She punched in a code, then stepped back to allow the doors to slowly open. 

“Fuck ‘em,” she said, looking at Dean over her shoulder. “What’s happening here is wrong. I pretended as best as I could so that the good guys had _someone_ in here to minimize the damage and try to implode the facility.”

“Are there others?” Dean asked, looking around as they were led through a dark corridor, the floor and walls suddenly a dirty, stained cement. The clean, sterile white was nowhere to be seen. 

Alfie and Dean suddenly froze when they heard heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs down the hall. Three sets of army boots came into view, followed by black armour and automatic assault rifles.

Hannah’s hands were suddenly on Alfie and Dean’s shirts. She shoved them down to the ground and Dean felt her gun on the back of his head.

“GET DOWN, WINCHESTER!” she roared at him, suddenly furious.

“You got ‘em, Hannah?” one of the guards double checked as they ran past her.

“Takin’ ‘em to the brig,” she said with fire, jutting the gun at the back of Dean’s head. He growled, glaring over his shoulder at her, but she didn’t budge.

“Good. We’re heading to the caf, there’s a riot. Prisoners running everywhere. A few of ‘em have guns,” a guard said, pausing beside Hannah.

Another called over her shoulder, “There’s been a breach at Hallway A, F, and H and I heard three other floors of the building have been infiltrated. Hunters.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I drop these maggots off,” Hannah said with a nod.

The three guards all exchanged looks and headed off. As soon as their footsteps disappeared up the steps and the heavy steel doors sealed behind them, the muzzle of the gun lifted off Dean’s skin and Hannah was tugging him and Alfie to their feet.

“Come on, we’re almost there.”

The steady, careful gait they’d had earlier was dropped. Hannah, Alfie, and Dean ran for it. She only stopped to hand them her key card.

“Listen,” she said, her eyes wide but focused as she locked gazes with Dean. She held up the card. “This opens nearly every door in this place. If something happens to me, you run and try to get out. There’s a van waiting on the ground floor, south-west exit. So just keep going down. There are stairwells in every corner of this building. Avoid the elevators, there are cameras in there and security can lock you in if they see you.” She turned to Alfie. “Repeat after me: 5-3-4-7-1-6-8-H-M.”

Alfie blinked. “5-3-4...uh.”

“7-1-6-8-H-M,” Hannah repeated.

Alfie squeezed his eyes shut. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes but he chattered out, “5-3-4-7-1-6-8-H-M.”

“Okay,” she nodded. Her eyes darted between the pale men. “That’s my punch. If there’s any doors without a scanner, that’s the number. That being said, likely if something happens to me, that’s because they’ve found me out. If they find me out, they’ll deactivate the card.”

“Keep going down,” Dean repeated.

Hannah clapped him on the shoulder and pointed up towards the stairs the three other guards had come in through.

“Unlock that door for me. I’m gonna shoot, and while I’m shooting, you start swiping that card. Alfie, you start punching that number. We’re going to release people from the brig.”

Dean and Alfie exchanged looks. Hannah looked pointedly at Dean, scowling. “Castiel. Castiel is in the brig. Him and about fifteen other men who were set to be ‘released’.”

“Why are they really in there?” Dean asked, pulling up the card to stare at it. 

Hannah look towards the door, a bitter frown on her lips. “They were trouble. Incited violence or rebellion. Or they got sick and couldn’t be healed. Or, in Castiel’s case, they were too close to Dean Winchester, and Naomi’s a spiteful bitch,” Hannah added with a wink at Dean. 

“You were looking after us,” Dean said in revelation, his eyes scanning Hannah’s face. “You never hurt us, not really. And that one time in the caf, you were covering for Cas and I.”

“And I heard you two going at it that one time,” she laughed. “You’re lucky it was me on duty and not Dumah. You’d be dead by now. In case you’re wondering; she’s a cunt, too.”

“Thank you, Fallen. For everything.”

They exchanged nods, the tops of Hannah’s cheeks tinted pink. But she cleared throat and raised her gun, pointing it towards the door. 

“Castiel is in door 6.”

Dean raised the card and swiped.

An alarm went off as soon as the door swung open. Two guards got to their feet, lifting themselves quickly out of metal chairs about halfway down the corridor. They hardly had time to react before Hannah was shooting at them. 

Dean and Alfie didn’t wait to see what happened, they started scanning the card and punching numbers at the doors into keypads. Doors lining the hallways swung open as they deactivated the doors. Men ran out, eyes wide in confusion, shaking as the blasts from the end of Hannah’s gun left holes in the guards. Dean saw their bulletproof vests burst and the impact push them back to the floor. Shots to their arms and legs bled out onto the concrete. 

Dean didn’t have time to care about them. A part of him was tempted, now knowing that Hannah had been on their side the entire time—who else was helping them?—but he rushed past Hannah and Alfie, who were both yelling at the freed men, instructing them on where to run. 

Door 6…Door 6…

“DEAN!’

Cas saw him before he saw Cas, but at the sound of his voice, Dean’s heart felt like it burst. Elation, relief, and unrestrained joy coursed through him, causing his hands to tremble as he swiped the key. The moment the door slid open with a whirr, Castiel was out the door, practically throwing himself at Dean. They crashed into each other, arms wrapped around each other like pincer grips. Cas was humming with pleasure against Dean’s shoulder, while Dean’s eyes stung and his fingers gripped into Cas’ skin like he was going to cling on and never let go.

“Cas, Hannah—”

“—is on our side,” Cas finished, pulling away and nodding. His blue eyes were bright and _alive,_ his mouth fighting a smile. “I know. She de-briefed me when she took me away from the cafeteria. Naomi wanted me exterminated, but Hannah? She’s been working with your brother, Dean. Sam’s been planning this attack for days. Hannah was going to pull me into the brig, then go get you too to avoid suspicion—”

Hannah lowered her gun, spinning around to watch the last of the prisoners clear up the stairs. Fifteen feet away from her, guards lay unconscious, haloed in puddles of crimson. She wiped the sweat atop her lip with the back of her hand and scowled at Dean.

“Dean here decided to start an uprising in the meantime. Shit, I was gone for fifteen minutes. I mean, you could’ve waited. We were hoping we’d start a riot anyway, but after Sam did his announcement and we got some hunters in here to infiltrate each level of the building...thanks to Dean, the process got expedited.”

She turned on her rubber heel and jerked her head towards the exit. They followed, Dean blushing sheepishly after her. Cas gave him the most beautiful, proud beaming smile, and Dean suddenly felt like he could do anything.

They joined hands and followed her. Alfie followed as well, shaking and looking about four shades of red, but doing pretty well. He hadn’t really burst into tears yet, which was a surprise to everyone.

When they emerged from the brig, back up into corridors of solid white, they winced as their eyes adjusted to the flashing red lights and blaring alarm sounds. To everyone’s—though perhaps not Hannah’s—surprise, it was absolute chaos. Men ran free, some hurt or bleeding, while others had clearly disarmed guards and were running around with guns. Dean looked nervously over at Hannah, but she didn’t seem to care for her own safety. Instead, she looked around alertly, eyes scanning for her next destination.

Or rather, he realised, she was looking for someone.

A band of vigilantes were running down the corridor after twisting around a corner. They had bandanas covering their mouths, and were in a mix of army gear; all well armed, in steel toed boots, and bulletproof vests. Because of his experience at The Facility, Dean was immediately put on edge at the vision of armed soldiers approaching them, but as they approached, Hannah waved and made a hand gesture.

“Hey, hunters! Poughkeepsie,” she yelled, cupping her mouth with a gloved hand.

The leader, a tall, buff guy with his hair in a brown ponytail turned at the sound of her voice. “Fallen!”

 

Dean felt that abrupt need to burst into tears again. It was Sam.

“Dean!” Sam added, reaching up to yank down his bandana from his mouth to reveal a grin. He was tanner than Dean remembered, and his hair was longer (and was that a beard?) but the same happy, bright greeny-hazel eyes met Dean’s. “Hi, jerk!”

Beside him, another masked hunter yanked down their face cover. This time, Dean did burst into tears. As Sam pulled him into a crushing hug, Dean hiccuped and allowed happy tears to run down his face. 

Benny grinned back at him from behind Sam, waving. “Hey, brother.”

“Hi, brother,” Dean whispered to Benny, sniffing sharply, trying to preserve some of his dignity as he blubbered onto Sam’s shoulder. “How—”

Benny nodded over at Sam after they broke apart and ducked out of the way of a few fleeing prisoners that shot their way down the hallway at approaching guards. With gargles screams, the guards went down.

“Sam’s a good man,” Benny chuckled, nudging Sam in the shoulder blade with a baton. “Broke me outta the farms just near the border ‘bout two days ago. Got another team working on the farms out east. Rumors are the Bobby’s out that way, working on a resistance of his own.”

“Won’t have to do it for long,” Sam said, his grin widening as he met eyes with Hannah. The two beamed at each other. Sam gestured to her. “We’ve been in contact with other spies. We’re collection geographical data on where all these facilities are, and we’re gonna expose them to the UN. Charlie’s already in contact with a representative there, and is spreading info to Wikileaks and international media outlets. Stories are being written as we speak. The world isn’t going to respond kindly to purposeful release from the US government of the virus to its own people. It’ll spark fear that their governments will be doing it to them too.”

“Long story short,” Hannah concluded, “this crap ends soon or the US is in deep shit.”

A flurry of gunshots and screams erupted from the ends of the hallways. Benny looked nervous, then passed the bandana from his neck over to Dean, gesturing to his eyes.

“Wipe those tears, brother. Before any shit gets fixed, we gotta get outta here. You got weapons?”

Hannah answered for Dean, who was wiping at his eyes. “Not yet. We hadn't gotten a chance to stop by the armoury. I was going to do that with Dean on the way to the brig, but—”

“I kinda fucked up her plans,” Dean said.

“He caused a big ol’ riot,” Alfie said with an anxious simper. The boy had tears in his eyes, but a wobbly smile on his face. “Made one of his scenes again and—”

“Is it bad that I’m proud?” Cas piped up, from where he’d stepped back, quiet in the face of the family reunion.

Heart fluttering at the happy twinkle in Cas’ eye, Dean gestured to him, grabbing his hand. “Sam, this is Cas.”

Sam greeted Cas by reaching into his waistband and handing them both guns. “Good to meet you, Cas. Heard lots about you. I’m excited to hear more, but first, we gotta take the pleasantries out of the line of fire. You both take these guns, so we make it out alive. You know how to shoot one of these?”

“I mean, Bobby used to take Benny and I out to the fields behind his garage to teach us how to shoot, but the better question is how do _you_ know how to shoot one of those _?”_ Dean asked, snorting. “I wasn’t aware they taught you how to shoot a gun in law school.”

Sam smirked as he double-checked the ammo on Cas gun before handing it to him. He winked at Dean. “Remember that one summer I had that rebellious streak?”

After handing Hannah her badge back, Dean rolled his eyes, checking the ammo in his own gun and kicking off the safety. “How could I forget? Hung out with a kid named _Lucifer_. How did you not see that was a terrible idea?”

“Couldn’t’ve been that bad. Taught me how to shoot a gun, after all,” Sam retorted with a snort as he led them forward, around a corner, following Hannah around a corner.

“Um, do I get a gun?” Alfie asked nervously.

Hannah scowled, breaking her intense concentration on navigating them around safely only to glance over her shoulder at them. 

“You know how to use one?”

“Um, well, no…”

“Then you don’t get a gun.”

Alfie gulped loudly, his wet eyes wide. Cas smiled though, touching his shoulder and gesturing to the space between he and Dean, and the rebels.

“Stay between us,” he counseled kindly. “We’ll protect you.”

Alfie looked significantly less stressed as he was shielded in a circle by five armed adults. With Hannah at the lead, knowing where she was going and getting them through the rioting, panicking, and gunfire with surprising ease, it almost seemed like they were going to make it just fine.

Despite the flurry of terror and violence—they kept running past the occasional body or smearing of blood, or white walls punctured by bullet holes—Dean felt a rush of hope. Cas, warm and pressed closely to his side, was alive. He was well, in one piece, and they were getting the fuck out. Sam had pulled through, Hannah was on their side— _someone was on their side._ They were so close to exiting the building. Hannah was leading them through an office, a real office with windows. He could see a parking lot, and grass. He saw armed vigilante militia running towards the busses with prisoners in their wake, the prisoners in all manner of health. Some carried each other, others ran, and an alarming amount were speckled in blood or bleeding. Most of the militia had swiped badges that looked like Hannah’s—probably confiscated from guards, or stolen.

Dozens of men, many of which Dean didn’t recognize, were running for it, towards busses and vans where other militia members waited by open doors, waving them towards freedom. It felt like a dream. 

But of course, this was The Facility, and nothing ever worked out.

The swipe badge in Hannah’s hand had stopped working. They all hovered around a door, Dean and Cas shifting together nervously at the back, as Hannah growled and swiped again. The door made an angry sound, and the keypad flashed red.

_Access Denied._

“Shit,” Sam whispered, running a hand through his sweaty, long hair.

Hannah stomped her foot and swiped again, crying out in frustration, “Fuck! No! We’re so close, the fucking exit is just on the other side, I—”

Air wooshed out of Dean’s lungs as he was abruptly jerked back, his feet yanked out from under him. A boot came down hard on the back of his knees and he gasped, struggling to breathe as he was dragged backwards. His gun slid out of his hands, disappearing between Cas’ legs.

“Dean!” 

Cas’ eyes were wide, suddenly full of fear, the whites of his eyes circling the dilated blue. The whole group turned, and while guns went up, no one shot at Dean’s assailant.

“Le….mg’o…” Dean gurgled as an arm crushed his windpipe and the hot metal of a well-used gun pressed to the side of his head. He wheezed and his feet slipped over the floor.

Naomi’s voice shook with pleasure near his ear.

“The pleasure I’m going to take in killing you will be euphoric,” Naomi chuckled, tightening her chokehold. “In front of your pathetic boy-toy and vigilante trash friends.”

“You fucking bitch.”

Dean was so proud, even when struggling to breathe, as his fucking angel in scrubs pointed a gun at Naomi. They both know he couldn’t shoot, not if he wanted to take Dean’s head off with hers, but the scathing insult was heart-warming.

“You don’t have the balls, Grace. You’ve got nothing. You’re just a defective cow, nothing but a—”

“I’m not defective, you cunt,” Cas snarled, shaking his gun. “We know you botched my results to have me ‘set free’. We know you manipulated that, on top of everything else you’ve done, and we’re going to tell the world what you’ve been doing here.”

“I’d love to see you try,” Naomi laughed, her cackle loud and sharp in Dean’s ear, even as he struggled, kicking back at her and missing. “You’ll be dead, all of you, before you can even reach the border.”

“The only person who’ll be dead is you,” Sam spat at her, adjusting the gun in his hands, his finger tightening around it.

Naomi’s snort blew some of her sandy hair into Dean’s face, clinging to his sweat-slick skin. “Even if I die right now—” She pushed Dean to his knees on the floor, and while he only had a second to gasp for breath, she filled it with pressing the gun to the back of his head—“the terror on your face the split second after I pull this trigger and blow off Winchester’s head will be enou—”

While Dean couldn’t see Naomi get shot, he did see Alfie—smaller and unassuming, shadowed by Cas, Sam, Benny, and Hannah—pick up his gun that’d slid behind Cas, and aim it shakily. The blast must’ve been loud beside Cas’ ear as Alfie fired the gun over Cas’ shoulder. Cas screamed, falling to his knees, holding his ear, and Alfie screamed, shocked at his own gall. 

But it worked. Naomi shrieked and stumbled back, clutching her side, where blood created a spreading, wide circle of shining red through her grey suit. Dean turned in time to see that, and he almost grinned with triumph, but she didn’t go down as expected.

Instead, his face fall instantly as she kicked forward, knocking him back to the floor again, his ass hitting the ground hard, his hand slipping on some of her blood that’d splattered onto the floor.

“I fucking hate you,” she snarled, swinging her arm up quickly, her finger ready on the trigger as the muzzle pointed right at Dean’s chest. 

***

Behind him, his friends screamed as Naomi began squeezing the trigger.

Just then, where Naomi’s head had been, an explosion occurred. They all screamed again as her head exploded, her face collapsing in on itself, the brains, blood, and flesh that’d sat on her shoulders splattering out sideways as someone shot her in the temple from the adjacent, dark hallway.

Dean, Castiel, Sam, Charlie, and Ash all screamed and ducked, confused by the shot and trying to avoid the splatter from Naomi’s brain. Her flesh, bone and blood coated the walls, and her body keeled over, hitting the floor with a thump.

“What the fuck?” Dean breathed, his hands shaking violently as he lowered them from his face, his upper-half covered in splatter. “What the fu…”

Hands, at least three pairs of then, helped him up, and Dean found himself pulled into Castiel’s arms. 

“I can’t believe I shot a gun,” Alfie said weakly, staring at the gun in his hand. 

While the others slowly creeped towards Naomi, Dean’s teeth chattered and he asked, “How the hell did you blow off her head?”

“T-That wasn’t me. I just hit her in the stomach. I-I-I was aiming for her heart, to be honest, but I guess my aim sucks…” 

A little squeak guided Cas and Dean, as well as a shaken-looking Alfie, to follow the rebels.

Their group slowly peered around the corner.

Daphne, Castiel’s ex, stood there with a big, heavy looking rifle in her trembling hands. Her eyes were squeezed shut. When she opened her eyes, big, blue, and full of fear, she whispered, “Did I get her?”

Everyone stared. Then Dean broke his perplexed gaze and looked over at Cas, who looked confused, but broken a little bit, his eyes watering as he looked at Daphne’s pale face.

“Did...you shoot her with your eyes closed?” Sam asked in confusion, breaking everyone’s silence.

Daphne shrugged, slowly lowering the gun, looking like holding it up was exhausting. She looked between everyone with terror. “I’ve...I’ve never fired one before. I was scared! I wasn’t even sure if it would work, I know there’s stuff you gotta turn on, like, uh, safety and... It...worked though, didn’t it?”

She seemed genuinely confused, unsure if she’d hit anything, but then she spotted Naomi’s corpse on the floor and squeaked, her eyes getting impossibly wide.

“Yeah,” Dean said slowly, shaking his head imperceptibly. “Yeah, I’d say it worked.”

Castiel swallowed loudly, finally speaking. “Thank you.”

Daphne’s eyes got wet as she heard Castiel’s voice. Lowering the gun to her side and wiping at her brow, she choked out, “You’re welcome. Cas, I—”

“This changes nothing between us,” Cas interrupted with a quiet, hoarse murmur, holding Dean closer.

Dean wouldn’t ever admit to anyone that the gesture was so damn comforting. A part of him had been wondering if Cas would be willing to forgive Daphne’s transgressions if freedom was something within his reach. But judging by the protective way Cas was holding him, Cas definitely saw him as more than just a prison bunk lover.

Daphne nodded, though she had tears in her eyes. “I-I know. I know that. But I thought I could at least save him,” she pointed at Dean, “for you. You deserve it. A-And I wanted to also do this, too. F-for you.”

Everyone tilted their chins down as she tugged a key-fob hanging off a lanyard from her pocket.

“It unlocks every door out of the building,” she explained. “It’ll get you out in case someone has deactivated Hannah’s, since, um, since she punched a punch of guards in the face, and, um, shot a lot of people.”

Dean and Cas turned to Hannah, who looked like a deer in headlights. 

Dean snorted, “When did you have time to punch a bunch of people _?_ ”

Hannah shrugged. “As soon as you started the riot. I mean, Sam and I were going for something more subtle, but since you two planned your riot at the same time as our rescue operation, I had no cover to blow anymore. I just started swinging as I made my way back from Castiel’s drop off.”

Castiel reached forward, stepping towards Daphne, looking like he was about to go pet a python, his steps careful. Then he took the key fob from her gingerly, and stepped back, away from her.

He nodded. “Thank you, Daph.”

Daphne nodded furiously, her lips trembling, her eyes coated in a thick glaze of tears. With a thick voice, she said, “Now, go. Hurry up. I’ll divert any guards who come down this way. I-I’ll knock them off your trail.”

Castiel turned from her and nodded to Hannah, Sam, and their Hunter friends. They all moved to exit the corridor, but Dean stayed put, gazing at Daphne, who stood in the entrance to the corridor, looking broken.

Quietly, he reached out and took her hand, tugging her out of the darkness. When she blinked at him with those big confused eyes, Dean rolled his at her. “Oh, quit it with the self-sacrifice-BS. They’re already chasing us and I can’t stand that weepy look on your face.”

Daphne looked perplexed, but she nodded, following, looking over her shoulder in fear.

Cas looked torn, but he nodded. As Dean let go of Daphne’s hand and reached out, Cas’ hand was ready for his, their fingers linking the second their skin touched.

They walked through the group that parted for them, and Cas swiped Daphne's keycard. For a moment, nothing happened.

Then a green light flashed, and the final door separating them from the waiting buses opened.

Cas looked around and grinned. Sam winked and nodded for everyone to go through, his hair blowing as the wind from outside rustled his hair into his eyes.

“Let’s go.”

With their hands linked together like they never wanted to let go, Dean and Cas led the way, stepping out into freedom, together.


	13. Epilogue: Date Night

“I can’t believe you fell asleep on our date.”

Castiel opened his eyes, wincing against the sun as it shone down on his face. He moaned, raising his hand above him, blocking the blinding light. He was pulled from his lazy nap, and felt groggy. Sweat and sunscreen slicked up his skin, sand dried out his feet. The heat had him melted into the towel below him, his body sunk into the sand like memory foam. 

“I told you I’ve never been on a date with a man before,” Castiel joked, grinning a bit, slowly pushing himself up onto his elbows on the beach towel. He stared out at the white sand and clear blue water as Dean dropped himself down onto his own towel. “How was I supposed to know naps are discouraged?”

“It’s cool, sunshine. Maybe others might complain, but I’m pretty okay with you napping on our date. Especially when it means I get to leer at you all sweaty and hot, laying there with your shirt off and your abs all shiny.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows as Cas’ blushed. “You got some wicked sex hair going on too.”

Dean laughed in a bark as he handed Cas a drink—a tall, cold glass filled to the brim with blended ice and some pink liquid. A paper umbrella tipped sideways out of the top, the edges wilted as the condensation soaked into the flimsy teal paper.

“Thanks,” Cas said appreciatively, fishing for the straw with his tongue before he sucked the daiquiri unto his mouth. The flavour of strawberry and rum exploded on his tongue and he moaned happily. From the corner of his mouth, “So good.”

“No tequila, as per instructions. There’s a fuck-ton of rum in it though.” Dean teased, watching Cas drink so fast he nearly gave himself a brain freeze. “Finally, a smoothie you’re not allergic to.”

Cas kicked him in the ankle playfully and gestured to Dean with his glass, watching Dean suck down his own, the cocktail in his hand a gradient of orange and red. “I can’t tell just yet if I’m allergic. Better have a few more to find out properly.”

Dean slid on a pair of sunglasses and grinned. “Oh, buddy. On an empty stomach?”

“You have experience with caring for me while I puke my guts out. It’ll be fine.”

Beside him Cas heard the crinkling of a bag, but he rolled around a chunk of ice in his mouth and stared up at the sky happily. After his time in the facility, he would never again take for granted the beauty of the sky and the freedom he had now to go outside at will. California was stunning in every regard; they had beaches, open road, nature, the sea, Sam’s credit card to help themselves to cocktails and boardwalk lunches in the searing heat. 

He didn’t, however, dare forget what they’d left behind in South Dakota. Their facility had been rioted and taken down, but there was more work to be done. There were still other facilities. Naomi was dead, but there were other people—inner circle guards, executive administrators, members of state governments that were scheduled to stand trial next year. In the meantime, the UN was working on getting all the locations and records of prisoners and processes from within the facilities. Their government was in deep shit, essentially. Dean, Cas, Sam, Hannah….all of them owed testimonies. They would all have to attend the trials and expose the government.

But first...vacation.

The crinkling sound happened again, causing Cas to look over at Dean. To his surprise, Dean handed him a small white cardboard box. Cas twisted his glass into the sand for safe-keeping, and took the box.

“Oh,” Cas said breathlessly, his heart jumping in excitement. “Dean, you shouldn’t have…”

Dean slurped from his cup, his grown blonde locks flopping in the light, warm breeze. As he shrugged cockily, his Hawaiian shirt flapped open, revealing a hilarious handprint tan. 

Cas had asked that Dean not let him fall asleep with his hand on his stomach, but he hadn’t promised the same back. 

“I love you, sunshine,” Dean flirted, grinning crookedly, his pointy incisor almost flashing in the sun. “I’m gonna spoil you now that I can… and besides, I promised I’d get you that on our first date.”

Cas opened the box, and nearly sobbed at the beautiful, perfectly crafted Big Mac. The bun was fluffy and coated in sesame seeds, the top overflowed with extra pickles and lettuce…

“I love you,” Cas said before he grabbed the burger and shoved it into his mouth. Reaching up to sweep Mac sauce off his lip, he moaned.

“Tastes just like you remember?” Dean asked.

“Better,” Cas laughed, swallowing. He picked at the lettuce in the box, hovering it in front of his mouth. “Tastes like freedom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for sticking it out this far. I hope you enjoyed the fic!
> 
> Please leave me a comment and let me know what you loved. I adore hearing from readers! <3
> 
> Tah-tah!

**Author's Note:**

> If you like it? PLEASE COMMENT. Comments make my author-y heart pitter patter so hard.


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